An Unlikely Angel
by minimindbender
Summary: Mac gets a little help from an unlikely angel. My JAG take on "It's a Wonderful Life." I rated it T just in case.
1. Sort of a Fallen Angel

_A/N: So, I thought I'd do a little holiday story. I'm still working on Conquering Never-slowly since work has been a bear. I hope you all enjoy this take on "It's a Wonderful Life." I know there are a few of these around so I hope this is at least a little unique. Thanks for reading!_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 1: Sort of a Fallen Angel**

I'm not your typical angel.

What _is_ a typical angel, you ask? Good question. I had always thought angels came dressed in glowing robes and shining halos. And of course, they'd have wings.

The reality is so much different. Oh, there are still wings, but you have to _earn_ them. But the white robes? The halos? Not so much. I saw someone here wearing plaid. Plaid, I tell you. Then there's a guy who runs around here in some sort of ancient nightshirt. I wonder if anyone's ever told him that most women don't particularly care for men wearing dresses. I can't think of his name right now, but I'm told that he's only recently earned his wings. By recent, I mean in the last eighty years or so. He's still pretty proud of himself. I roll my eyes. Or at least I would if I still had them in the traditional sense; I can see others around me but for some reason I can't see myself. I don't know what I'm wearing, but since it seems people are running around here in what they died in, I have an idea.

This brings up an important point…I'm dead. Expired. Deceased. Belly up. And so is…well, I don't really want to think about that. I don't remember the specifics of my death, but I have the sense that it was violent. And cold.

So, anyway, I'm dead. Truthfully, I'm a little surprised I'm here amongst the angels. I mean, it's not like I ever killed anyone or anything, but I wasn't exactly a nice person, either. I was, shall we say, ambitious. I really didn't care who I stepped on to get ahead and as a result my relationships with my coworkers were strained and friendships were nonexistent. I had lovers, but in the last decade only two of them were not chosen for their potential to help my career.

Damn, I sound cold…but I really did have a few redeeming qualities and I did do a few things for people without expecting anything in return. Maybe that's why I'm here instead of someplace…warmer.

I resume my observation of my fellow angels. There's Rita…she was hit by a bus one Christmas Eve. She had just gotten off work as one of Santa's elves so you can imagine how _she's_ dressed. The bells on her shoes jingle as she moves about and I honestly think she deliberately exaggerates her walk to make them louder. She's perpetually cheerful which I find curious given how her life ended. I also wonder why she remembers how she died when I only have vague feelings about it.

Come to think of it, most of us in this place know how we died. I don't understand why I and a couple of teenagers here don't possess this knowledge. I tried asking Joseph, the one angel around here who struts his stuff in glowing raiments and a full-on halo. He only smiled and patted me on the head (I think) with a wing. Sick bastard. Well, that's not really fair…he's actually very nice and he was very comforting when I first arrived here.

My 'eyes' settle now on Elvis. Yes, _that_ Elvis. I'd heard various reports of his death. Supposedly he was found in his pajamas, but either his pajamas were bejeweled jumpsuits or there are a few perks to being a celebrity. He got his wings a few years ago but he's actually very humble-and the dude sure can sing.

I once had an annoying psych professor in college who insisted he'd seen Elvis in a smoke shop in Key West after the man had been dead for eight years. Professor James was convinced Elvis was still alive and his periodic rants about it made for some interesting lectures. The day I got to introduce the two of them here was the best…Professor James threatened to fail me before he realized he was dead via bad fugu and we were no longer in Psych 101.

He still won't talk to me.

Elvis isn't the only celebrity around here…John Lennon roams these gold-paved streets as well. He has not earned his wings yet…which makes him a little surly when his former bandmate George flashes his.

I think I'm most intrigued by an older gentleman named Joe. He seems very sad despite being in Heaven and I think he must have more than a few regrets. I certainly know how that is. He sits with me for a while each day and though he doesn't say anything, I think we both feel a little better afterwards.

Speaking of Joe, I haven't seen him yet today, so I scan the area for his thin form. It doesn't take me long to spot him, but I'm shocked as I take in his slumped form as it sits on a marble bench. He looks distraught and I immediately head toward him.

Something, or someone, blocks my path. I finally remember his name.

"Dammit, Clarence, get out of my way."

The bewinged nightgown-clad angel winces at my language and tone and I'm sure there's now a smirk on my face.

"Joseph wants to see us." He starts to motion me toward where Joseph stands conversing with the archangel Michael. Now if ever there was an angel to follow…he's always clad in golden armor and he is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He reminds me of someone I knew when I was alive, but that guy never did anything for me the way Michael does. I fleetingly wonder if angels date…

Clarence tries to herd me toward Joseph but he's blushing now so I wonder if he's read my thoughts. I look back toward Joe. I'm really worried about him now so I continue to try to dodge around Clarence. He blocks me again and now I'm more than a little irritated.

"Just wait a damn minute, Clarence! I need to check on Joe!"

Clarence is getting agitated. "This is about Joe! _Please!_ Joseph has a job for us."

Not wanting Clarence to stroke out (although I guess that's impossible here), I throw a last glance at Joe over what I assume is my shoulder, then dutifully follow behind Clarence.

Michael is just leaving as we reach Joseph, and if I were still alive I'd be melting at his feet. Ohhh, that smile he gives us as he passes by...I notice Clarence is blushing again and Joseph is looking at me sternly, so I rein myself in and turn toward the angel who is essentially our boss. His face relaxes into a most… _angelic_ smile.

"Hello, Loren."

 _End Chapter 1_


	2. What Do You Want?

_A/N: Here's Chapter 2! I don't have much to say at the moment, I'll put more notes on the next chapter._

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 2: What Do You Want?**

" _What?!_ You want me to help _her?!"_

I look back and forth between Clarence and Joseph, thinking they've lost their ever-loving minds. They just stand there, Clarence looking nervous (as usual) and Joseph sporting a beatific smile. _They have_ got _to be kidding._

Joseph frowns a little at me. I scowl at him; I'm getting rather tired of him reading my thoughts.

"Then stop shouting them, my dear Loren." _Oh, for fu—ah,_ goodness _sake._

I roll my 'eyes.' "Fine. What am I supposed to do?"

Clarence steps up then. "You're going to convince her to stay."

"Stay…what, she's moving? Dear Lord, she's been there for eight years! It's about time she moved on!" Joseph looks at me meaningfully and taps his lips before he points upward.

"Sorry," I say, and I do mean it…this is not the place to take the Lord's name in vain and though while on earth I wasn't much for church, I did, _do,_ believe in God. But back to the matter at hand…

"So, who the hell cares if she moves?" Yeah, I'm still no saint, despite being around, well, saints.

"She's not moving." Clarence says, a bit smugly, I'd say.

"Then…what? Stay at HQ? Stay at JAG? Stay a marine?" Personally, I have no idea why anyone would want to be a marine, much less _stay_ a marine. If you ask me, she'd be better off switching branches.

"No, not any of those, Loren." It's Joseph that answers this time.

I'm getting sick of this little Q&A. It's bad enough I have to help _her._ "How about both of you cut the crap and tell me what the fu—, ah, heck you mean, then?"

I give Clarence a hard stare. He may be an Angel, First Class, with his fancy wings, but he still wilts under my second-class glare. I look at Joseph next. He's obviously not intimidated by me, and we stare each other down. Finally, he sighs. I think he's exasperated, but he should have known what he'd be getting with me.

"Loren, you must convince her to stay on earth."

 _So, she's going to be an astronaut? A pilot? Who gives a sh—, er, damn, I mean…oh, fuck it._ My non-eyes roll again.

Joseph looks as calm as usual, but Clarence actually seems a tad… _pissed_ at me.

"No, Loren," he says, his expression stern. He reaches out and grasps my shoulders. _Wait, what?_ I can actually see my shoulders when Clarence touches them. "No, Loren," he says again. "You must convince her to stay… _alive."_

 _Oh._

* * *

"So, what's got her so…distraught?" I sound a little sarcastic, but I really don't mean to. I didn't like her, but I wouldn't want her to…to… _Gee, that word's harder to say than I thought._

Suddenly, I find myself getting a little angry. Why would she do something so selfish? And really, what could possibly be so bad in her life that she'd choose to kill herself? For fu- _goodness_ —sake, she had every male in the office panting after her. Even our CO…and especially our resident Boy Scout. It used to make me sick how they'd moon over each other, how he'd go out of his way to defend her no matter what she did or said.

I never told anyone, and it was probably one of the more unselfish acts of my life, but one night I saw them kiss. At a most inappropriate time…and it wasn't a kiss of friendship, that's for damn sure. But I didn't tell his girlfriend…and I didn't tell her fiancé. Of course, her wedding never took place…but not because of that kiss. He almost died, and her fiancé figured it out pretty quick that Mr. Boy Scout would always be more than a friend to her.

I stand there…I guess, fuming a bit that Supergirl, who could have anything she wanted, was playing the drama queen by planning to end it all. I hope she knows that her friends will never forgive her. It's been ten years and I'm still pissed at…why can't I remember her name? Just another thing about this place I don't understand. Anyway, why doesn't she go talk to her buddy? Her _friend?_

"Because they're not friends anymore," Clarence says, sounding sad.

"At least she doesn't think they are…and she thinks it's her fault." This from Joseph who looks almost as sad as Clarence.

"Well, if you ask me, they were both annoying as hell. I'm sure they're equally responsible." I don't know why, but I'm starting to feel really bad…I didn't like either of them but deep down I know I never tried to like them. They stood in the way of my advancement, and I didn't trust them. Maybe I didn't realize this when I was alive, but here I have to admit that another reason I didn't like them was because they were too… _likable._ They would never understand what it was to _not_ be liked.

And now here I am, feeling sad because _she_ hurts. Feeling sad because she doesn't have her friend. I'd cry if I knew where my eyes were.

Joseph wraps a wing around me. Or at least I think he does…I'm kinda sick of not seeing my body. Maybe if I earn my wings, I'll get that back.

"So, my dear Loren, will you help her?"

I'm really not sure what I can do, so I hesitate. I'm about to ask a few more questions when someone appears beside me.

Joseph smiles kindly and Clarence puts a hand on Joe's shoulder. Now Joe... _he_ looks sad…I'm trying to think of a way to hug him when I hear him speak for the first time since I've been here.

"Please, Loren? Help her? Help my daughter?"

Joseph's other wing wraps around the broken angel in front of me.

"Loren, I'd like you to meet Joe MacKenzie."

 _End Chapter 2_


	3. Show Me the Way

_A/N: Here is chapter 3. It's a little sad, so bear with me. No, no one dies (and no one will, well, no one that isn't already dead). So, I guess I don't have anything more to say before this chapter either, so let's get to it!_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 3: Show Me the Way**

I watch as Joe MacKenzie, father of my former rival, walks back toward his bench. Clarence walks with him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. He is walking taller, though; once I agreed to help his daughter, his posture straightened, and the hope started to emanate from him in waves.

 _Oh Holy Jesus_ (aw, crap), I mean, _Oh my…what have I gotten myself into?_

Joseph is watching me intently. I wonder if he's thinking I'll back out, but dammit, I gave Joe my word. And even if I didn't like his daughter, I will do my best to make sure she doesn't do something so idiotic. So stupid. So sel-. When Vi _(that's the name!)_ did it…well, anyway, I won't let Joe down.

"I never thought you would, dear Loren." Oh, of course…Heaven forbid I have a private thought around here.

"It's not that Heaven forbids it, child. You're just very… _vocal_ in your thoughts."

My non-eyes roll again. "Whatever, Joseph. Just tell me what I need to do."

Joseph looks amused. "That, Loren, is up to you. You must find the right way to help her. Clarence and I will just be here for support."

" _What?!_ How in hell am I supposed to figure out that? I didn't even like the bi—"

I stop mid-rant. The thing is, she wasn't a bitch. Not really. The few times she dressed me down, she was, and this is hard to admit, correct. I would leave her presence fuming but later on, in the comfort of my home, I would begrudgingly have to agree with her. A few times I vowed to be more respectful, but, well…that never lasted too long. Oh, I never did anything blatant, but I was certainly skilled at being passive-aggressive.

I ask more calmly this time, "How will I know how to help?"

"Come, my dear. I think it would help if you got to know Sarah a bit better. See how life was like when she was a child. As a teenager. As a young marine. If you can see what led her to this point in her life, perhaps you will be led to the solution for her. Let's see…I think we should start with, ah, yes…Christmas Eve, 1975…"

Joseph has brought us to the edge of Heaven, or at least that's how I view it, and the roiling clouds below us part. I see a nondescript house on a nondescript street, surrounded by other nondescript houses-tract housing at its finest. It must be early evening; there is still a slight glow of sunshine, but it seems to be fading fast. The image before me closes in on the little house, and in the waning daylight, I see that the yellow house is a shabbier version of its neighbors. None of the lawns have grass or snow, but they are neat and tidy, well kept. The little yellow house's front lawn is a brown mess of rock and weeds. The screen door has a large tear in it, and the trim around it is cracked and peeling.

It's a rather depressing scene, and as night falls, a veil of sadness falls across me as well. This irritates me…I think Joseph is being blatantly manipulative…

"Oh, Loren…" Joseph's tone is a combination of amusement and exasperation. "I merely want to introduce you to the MacKenzies. Specifically, one Sarah Jane MacKenzie. She's seven now, and she's been helping her mother all afternoon, getting things ready for their Christmas Eve dinner. She's made her first pie, and she can't wait to show it to her father."

"What does this have to do with anything?" I fail to see how seeing Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie as a seven-year-old will help me fix her thirty-something self, but then Joseph puts a finger to his lips and nods toward the break in the clouds.

"Shhh, Loren. Just watch…"

* * *

 _Joe and Deanne MacKenzie Residence_

 _Christmas Eve 1975_

Little Sarah Jane MacKenzie flitted about the living room, humming Christmas tunes as she dusted the various knick-knacks that adorned the shelves in the room. She was helping her mama today; she'd even made a pie under Deanne MacKenzie's watchful gaze and had helped her mix up the stuffing for the turkey that was now in the oven. She was excited that she was now considered big enough to work alongside her mother in the kitchen, and proud that she could do something for her mother today. Deanne MacKenzie's left arm was broken and Sarah was afraid it was really hurting her. She'd asked Deanne about it; Deanne merely said that it wasn't too bad, and anyway, it wasn't her right hand. That really would have been a problem. Sarah just wished her mother wouldn't fall so often…

Sarah looked at the clock on the wall. The big hand was on the nine, and the little hand was almost to the five. She really didn't have to look to know what time it was, but it never hurt to be sure. Her daddy would be home soon, and she couldn't wait to show him her pie. Sure, it was a little dark around the edges, but mama said it would just add a little flavor to the pie and that it was okay that Sarah had forgotten to put aluminum foil around the edges. They would eat the pie tonight, and then tomorrow, they would bring the fancy store-bought pie to her grandmother's house for Christmas dinner. Grandma always made something from her own country for dinner, which is why the MacKenzies always had the traditional turkey dinner on Christmas Eve. Daddy didn't like grandma…or maybe he just didn't like her cooking. Having turkey the day before seemed to keep him calm when he was served the savory-sweet Persian dishes of his mother-in-law's homeland.

"Sarah!" Mama called from the kitchen. "I need your help getting the turkey out of the oven." Sarah put the dust rag down and joined her in the other room. "Okay," Mama said. "You take that end, and I'll take this one." Sarah did as she was told, but as soon as her hand made contact with the handles of the roasting pan, she knew she had done something wrong. A searing pain shot across her palm, and she couldn't help her scream of pain. Mama, surprised, dropped the end she was holding and when the pan came back down on the oven rack, some of the juices splashed onto Sarah's hand.

"Sarah, why didn't you use a potholder?" Mama admonished her. Sarah started to cry.

"I'm sorry, Mama, I forgot!"

Her mama looked at the clock. She seemed worried as she brought Sarah over to the kitchen sink. She turned on the water and pulled Sarah's hand under it. The cool water was soothing, but Sarah still cried. She felt so stupid. Of _course,_ she should have used a pot holder. Any five-year-old would know that, and she was _seven!_ Mama looked at the clock again. "We need to hurry, Sarah. Your daddy will be home soon and we gotta get supper on the table."

Sarah knew her mama was right, so she reluctantly took her hand from under the faucet and mama shut it off. Sarah was handed an oven mitt, and she did her best not to cry more as she pulled it over her injured hand. Her mama never cried when she was hurt, at least not in front of her, so Sarah needed to be brave and strong like that.

Together they got the turkey out of the oven, and Sarah's mama started to work on the gravy while Sarah mashed up the potatoes. The turkey was then carved, and as Joe MacKenzie came through the front door scant minutes later, he was greeted with a perfectly perfect Christmas dinner.

* * *

 _Joe and Deanne MacKenzie Residence_

 _Christmas Eve, 1975_

The three of them ate in silence. Her daddy didn't like much chatter in the evenings, always telling them that he had to talk to people all day and was it too much to ask to have a little peace and quiet when he got home from work?

Sarah watched her daddy take his first bite of mashed potatoes. She hoped he liked them; it was harder to mash them with her burned hand, so they probably had a few extra lumps. Mama looked over at her and smiled. "Sarah mashed the potatoes for me, Joe. Aren't they good?"

Her daddy took another bite of the potatoes and turned his eyes to Sarah. "They're kinda lumpy."

Sarah looked down at her plate, trying to hide her disappointment. Her daddy didn't like them.

"But they taste good, Sarah," he amended, and Sarah was happy again.

Mama, as always, watched Daddy carefully during the meal. She needed to be ready in case he wanted something from the kitchen. Mama forgot things a lot, and that always made Daddy upset. The yelling would start, and Sarah did not want any yelling on Christmas Eve.

"Deanne."

It was the first time her daddy had spoken since he had told her the potatoes tasted good.

"Yes, Joe?" Mama asked. Sarah stiffened. Daddy sounded, not mad exactly, but definitely not happy. Mama sounded nervous.

"Bring me a beer."

Mama hesitated. Daddy didn't drink on Christmas Eve. "Joe…"

Daddy slammed his hand down on the table, making the glasses and plates shudder and Sarah jump. "Dammit, Deanne! I've had a long day and I just want to relax. One beer. Is that too much to ask? In my own home?"

Sarah watched as her mama scurried into the kitchen. Seconds later Mama was setting the cold can of beer in front of her daddy, quickly stepping away before Daddy could stop her.

Little Sarah clenched her hands together under the table. Daddy seemed grumpier than usual and she wondered why. It was Christmas Eve after all.

Daddy quickly drained his beer, just as quickly asking for another. Mama got up again, this time not protesting.

Sarah kept her face down, trying to make herself smaller so she wouldn't be noticed. She wanted to go to her room, but she hadn't been excused. Three minutes, twenty-two seconds passed, and Sarah had just about screwed up enough courage to ask if she could leave the table when she remembered her pie. It was pumpkin, Daddy's favorite. Forgetting that she was trying to avoid attention, she jumped up.

"Daddy, Daddy! I made a pie. Can I get you some?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned and was half-way to the kitchen before she heard her daddy call her name. Slowly she turned back around to Daddy's hard stare.

"Did I say you could leave the table, Sarah?" His voice was low, carefully controlled. Why was her daddy so mad all the time?

"No, Daddy," she whispered.

"What was that, Sarah?"

It was hard, but she spoke louder this time. "N-no, Daddy."

"What do you say, Sarah?"

Sarah could feel her little heart pound faster. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

" _What_ do you say?" His voice held a hint of warning, and Sarah knew she'd better answer this time.

"M-may I be excused?"

"May I be excused, _what,_ Sarah?"

"May I be excused, Daddy?"

"No. Sit your ass back down."

Sarah did as she was told, thinking that Daddy must have gotten off work early for Christmas Eve and had a couple of drinks with his friends. He didn't usually get this way with just a couple of beers.

The tension was thick in the MacKenzie household. Sarah's eyes burned with unshed tears, and she counted off the seconds as a distraction to keep them from falling. Daddy would only get madder if she cried.

Three hundred thirty-three seconds passed, during which Joe demanded another beer from Deanne. Sarah listened to them argue. Her mama rarely talked back to Daddy, but this time Sarah heard Mama protest.

"It's Christmas Eve, Joe. I think you've had enough." Mama's voice was pleading, and Sarah waited for Daddy yell again.

He didn't.

It was worse than that.

Sarah jumped as the sound of flesh striking flesh reached her ears. _Oh no._ Daddy was really mad this time. Sarah looked up in time to see Mama's head snap back. Her broken arm came up to ward off another blow, and the other hand came up to cover her cheek. Sarah knew her mama would have the black around her eye again and she wouldn't be able to tell her daughter that she just fell again. Sarah knew better.

Sarah was only seven, but she knew her daddy hit her mama. She'd known it since she was only a little girl of five. She hated it. Her mama would walk around looking sad, and if they left the house, she'd wear sunglasses no matter how gloomy the day was.

" _Sarah!"_

At the sound of her father yelling her name, Sarah looked up. Her daddy was staring at her while her mama still cowered next to him.

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Go to your room." The measured calm in his voice was back. Sarah immediately started to obey, and just as quickly, her daddy turned his attention back to his wife. He was yelling at Mama again and Sarah heard another slap.

She had to stop this. It was Christmas Eve. Daddy and Mama should be happy. The pie would make her daddy happy. It was his favorite.

Sarah changed directions and went into the kitchen instead. She took the pie off the counter and put it on the little table in the corner, then grabbed some paper plates because she could reach them. She started to cut into the pie like she had seen her mama do and was a bit disappointed in herself that her lines weren't as straight as Mama's. She dished up the biggest piece for Daddy, doing her best to keep it upright to set it on his plate. Of course, it tipped off the fork and landed facedown. Sarah righted it, frowning at the now deformed slice. Oh, well. There wasn't anything she could do about it now.

She waited until there seemed to be a lull in the shouting and then carried the plate with Daddy's pie to the dining room.

Mama was now sitting down, pressing her glass of ice water to her right eye. Her ice was mostly melted already, so it probably wasn't cold enough. Sarah made a mental note to bring Mama some new ice when she brought more pie out.

Daddy was sitting too, a sullen look on his face. Sarah bravely walked up to his side.

"I brought you some pie, Daddy. It's your favorite." Her daddy glared down at her, but he at least took the dessert she offered. He set it down in front of himself and then moved to take a bite. His fork had slid through half the pie's thickness before he pulled it back out.

"This pie is burned."

"I know, Daddy. I forgot the tin foil. But Mama says—"

"I don't give a good goddamn about what your mama says! You burnt it. Can't you do anything right?"

"I'm s-sorry, Daddy."

"Sorry doesn't make it right, Sarah!" He swept the plate off the table. Since it was a paper plate, there was at least no glass to step on, but Sarah watched in horror as her pie hit the opposite wall. It dropped in clumps to the floor, and all she could do was stare at it, her mouth gaping open.

"Joe—it was her first pie," Her mama started to defend her, but it only served to turn Joe's wrath back on his wife.

The only good thing about it was it gave Sarah an opportunity to run to the safety of her room. She grabbed her ratty old blankie from her bed along with her well-worn teddy bear from Uncle Matt and stepped into her closet. There was just enough room for her to lay down with her legs slightly bent. She clutched her bear to her and let herself finally cry. It was true. She couldn't do anything right. She burned the pie. She burned her hand. No wonder her daddy was angry all the time. Sarah sobbed into the softness of her blanket, finally falling asleep while the sounds of shouting and breaking glass filled the shabby little yellow house at 111 Saguaro Lane.

Her mama and daddy didn't go to grandma's house the next day. Instead, a solemn Sarah Jane MacKenzie was surprised by her Uncle Matt, who picked her up and took her to spend Christmas and Christmas night with him and her grandma. The store-bought pie was a casualty of last night's argument, so Sarah was forced to bring the pathetic, poorly cut pumpkin pie to Christmas dinner. Both Grandma and Uncle Matt, and even Aunt Susan, who was always sick and usually didn't eat much, told her it was one of the best pumpkin pies they'd ever tasted.

Sarah politely thanked them, but inside she knew the truth. She never did anything right. The pie was not one of the best pies they'd ever tasted.

They were just saying that.

* * *

The break in the clouds closed several seconds ago, but all I can do is stare down at the place where I saw the saddest little Christmas play out. I can't believe what I just saw, and I can't believe that angry, abusive man is our Joe. How could he do that to his family? It's also hard to believe that sad little girl with the huge eyes is Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. But those were indeed the same eyes…and now all I can do is think about how the same brokenness I saw in the child's eyes was always in the grown-up's eyes as well. How could I not see that when I was alive?

But I did see it. And I just didn't care. In fact, I'm sure I used it to my advantage. I don't remember how, exactly, but knowing me…

Suddenly I feel Joseph's presence beside me. "Are you okay, my dear Loren?"

Were I whole, I would shake myself to clear away the cobwebs that are now in my mind. But I'm not, so all I can do is mumble, "Ah, yeah. Where's, um, where's Joe?"

"He's with Clarence. He knows what you just saw."

"How could he—"

"Joe is not the same man he was then. He's repented. He's been forgiven."

I snort. "By God, or by _her?"_

"Why, _both,_ Loren."

I find that hard to believe. If I were _her_ , I would never _, ever_ forgive him. _Ever._

I turn away from Joseph and find my gaze locked with Joe's. I know he sees my disgust, my utter scorn. He looks at me sadly, and then he mouths something silently to me: _I'm sorry._

Ha. That's rich. He's _sorry._

Well, I don't think _I_ will be forgiving him.

 _End Chapter 3_


	4. A Happy Family

_A/N: At long last, an update to an 'It's a Wonderful Life' story I started a year ago. I'm determined to get it done by Christmas! Yeah, it's a tad depressing…but it won't end that way._

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 4: A Happy Family**

"Loren?"

I'm still standing at the edge of Heaven when Joseph calls my name. I want to ignore him, pretend I didn't hear, but since he can read my thoughts, there's really no point. "Yes, Joseph?"

"Oh, child…" There's a flutter of shining white feathers and I feel them brush across my face, and I'm surprise at the diamond tear I see at the tip of Joseph's wing. Who knew I could actually cry here? _Wait…_

I'm crying? Over _her?_ How can that be? I know what I saw was sad…but…I don't cry.

 _But you do. You cried when Vi died. You cried when you found out about…_ don't say it! _And more than once today you've wanted to cry over the sad reality of a woman that meant nothing to you…_

Suddenly I can feel something slide down my face _(My face! I can actually feel my face!)._ Another diamond drop appears and this time it lands at my… _feet?_ I suppose my feet would be there if I could see them. So…it appears that I'm _still_ crying. God, this is embarrassing. I look around to see if anyone else is watching.

Joseph's wing wraps around my shoulders and I see a brief flash of blue when my arms appear for the shortest of seconds. The sleeves of my jacket look wet and just then I feel a shock of cold. Suddenly I can't breath because dirty water is rushing into my lungs. My hand goes to my stomach and I can only send out a brief apology before everything goes black.

The blackness only lasts for a millisecond though and suddenly I'm back in Joseph's winged embrace, arms no longer visible. But I can still feel the cold of an icy river…

"Oh, child," Joseph says again. "It's always hard when one starts to remember…"

 _Yes, Joseph, you astute observer of the obvious,_ I think, irritated now by Joseph's ever calm commentary. I want to snap at him but then it hits me…I just remembered how I died. I'd suspected it was violent and it appears I was correct. I'd fallen into a river… _no…_ I was _thrown_ into a river; I can still feel his hands on me as he lifted me up and tossed me in. I wonder…why didn't I fight? Joseph is calling my name again, so I guess that's a revelation for another day.

" _What?"_ That comes out more forcefully than I meant it to, but Joseph lets it slide.

"Come…there isn't much time; we must continue our glimpse into the world of young Sarah MacKenzie." Joseph ushers me closer to the edge and I see the clouds parting to reveal the shabby MacKenzie residence again. It hardly seems possible, but it looks even worse than before. There's the same large tear in the screen door, even bigger this time, and the paint on the trim around it is now nearly gone. The house is still yellow but I can't see where any of the paint isn't cracked and peeling.

 _How depressing._

"Yes, rather," Joseph answers my thought, and I picture myself sticking my tongue out at him, annoyed that he's once again reading my thoughts. The angel next to me chuckles. "Well, Loren, if you didn't shout—"

I step away from him in a huff. "Yes, yes, if I didn't shout my thoughts so much…" I motion down to the scene below us. "Let's just get this show on the road. When are we?" _Please don't let it be a continuation of the previous scenes…_

"Christmas Eve, 19–"

 _Aw, shit…_

"—83."

 _Oh joy, another holiday with the MacKenzies…_

Joseph continues, "Young Sarah is fifteen now, her mother has been gone nearly six months…"

My ears prick up at that. "She died?"

Joseph shakes his head. "No…she left them…on Sarah's fifteenth birthday."

 _What? That bi—_

"Shh, Loren…let's just watch…"

* * *

 _MacKenzie Residence_

 _Christmas Eve, 1983_

Fifteen year old Sarah MacKenzie closed the old oven door, cringing at the squeal it made as she pushed it into place. She checked to make sure the oven temperature was correct, then started cleaning up the kitchen. She was tired; her father had gotten home late last night and needed someone to pour him into bed. He wouldn't let her go back to sleep; instead, he'd cried to her about missing his wife. Sarah had nodded and done her best to sooth him, inwardly disgusted at his sobbing over a woman he couldn't seem to stand when she was around and had regularly beaten until she'd upped and left them. She wanted to tell him to shut up, to stop blubbering; Deanne MacKenzie didn't deserve even a passing thought after what she'd done. On her only child's birthday, no less.

Sarah bit back a yawn. Thank god it was Saturday, because at least she didn't have to rouse him out of bed and get him dressed for work. He'd made her late for school more than a few times and she would have liked to just let him continue to sleep it off, but they needed the money. They had to eat, after all.

Of course, it didn't help that he spent most of their meager grocery budget on booze. Sarah had become increasingly creative at stretching their funds, having taken over the cooking duties after Joe had nearly burned down the house one too many times.

Sarah had wondered why he'd felt the need to cook; didn't he realize she had done more than half the cooking over the past five years? She'd even prepared Christmas Eve dinner by herself for the last three years, just as she'd done today. Sometimes she wondered why they still had the traditional Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. Her grandmother had been dead for over two years, so it wasn't like they would be having dinner over there on Christmas Day. She'd suggested it last year, but both her parents had looked at her as if she were crazy.

 _I suppose, tradition,_ she thought sarcastically as she cleared away the remnants of her stuffing preparations, then mentally went over her list of tasks related to this meal:

Turkey: check

Stuffing: check

Green bean casserole: waiting to be put in the crock pot—check

Mashed potatoes: she'd start on those in a few hours—check

Pumpkin pie, his favorite…check

Sarah glanced over at the perfectly baked pie sitting innocently at the end of the counter. She scowled at it, almost irritated by the fact that the scalloped edge of the crust was a perfect golden brown. It would serve him right if she burnt it again, but after that mishap with the Christmas pie when she was seven, she'd developed an uncanny ability to make the perfect pie. Everyone raved about her pumpkin pie, and she always smiled and thanked anyone who complimented her on it, but truthfully she couldn't care less. For all she knew, they were just being nice. _She'd_ never tasted it.

Sarah finished her clean up, then got the green beans started in the crock pot. She listened carefully and, not hearing any signs of her father stirring, she went up to take a long bath.

* * *

A few hours later, Sarah finished peeling the last potato. She was just about to set the pot on the stove, when a loud crash in the living room caused her to jump. She rushed out of the kitchen to find Joe MacKenzie tangled up in the Christmas tree. Multiple ornaments lay shattered around him and he was already bleeding profusely from a cut on his forehead. He'd started drinking again as soon as he'd stumbled from his bed, as usual taking his hair of the dog to extremes. And now, here he was, lying drunk in the ruins of the Christmas tree she'd set up herself in an effort to be festive. _Bastard._

"Sarah," he mumbled, trying to stand up. He fell back onto the floor before saying her name again, but this time he shouted it. "Help me. Goddammit, you're as useless as your mother. Get over here!" Funny how he never seemed to slur his words when he insulted her.

She stepped over to him, trying to avoid stepping on any of the shards of glass scattered around. She sat him up, assessed his wound, then grabbed his jacket. "Put it on," she commanded, then got up to fetch a rag for him to hold against his forehead. When she returned, her father was still struggling to put his arms through the sleeves. Sighing, she helped him into it, then helped him stand.

"Where we goin'," he slurred.

"To the ER. You managed to split your head open. Again."

Sarah managed to get him settled in the passenger seat, then got behind the wheel. She didn't have her license yet, but her friend Eddie has taken her out many times, knowing someone in the MacKenzie household needed to be able to drive in a pinch. Sarah looked over at her father, who was now slumped over in his seat. He was still dripping blood and she wondered how in the world he'd gotten such a deep gash. She shook her head, then drove him to the ER.

* * *

"You're nothing but a whore, like your whore mother."

Sarah did her best to ignore her father as they returned to the car. They'd been in the ER for hours; apparently Christmas Eve brought out the Joe MacKenzies of the world, so there were several drunks ahead of her them that needed to be sewed up. Unfortunately, that gave Joe time to sober up a bit which made him irritable. The verbal abuse was always worse then, and it didn't help that both the lone male nurse in the ER and the doctor himself tried to flirt with her.

Sarah MacKenzie, though she didn't realize it, was exceptionally beautiful. She took after her maternal grandmother, sharing the same olive skin tone, exotic amber eyes, along with a womanly figure that belied her young age. Men flirted with her constantly, their reaction to her ranging from simple open admiration to lewd commentary. Those comments made her feel cheap and dirty; she knew about sex, had seen many girls in her class suddenly go from pigtails and pinafores to miniskirts and feathered hair in efforts to attract male attention. Their makeup was done with a heavy hand, and their whole persona screamed "easy."

Sarah had never been that way, and she'd cried herself to sleep more nights than she cared to admit at the injustice of her father's words. She hadn't asked for tonight's attention; she was embarrassed to be there with her drunken old man, and she just wanted this night to end.

"I don't know what I did to deserve such a tramp for a daughter…the way you flaunted yourself in there…I've never been so humiliated in my life."

 _Never…really, Daddy? Four trips to the ER in the last year?_ That _wasn't humiliating?_

Sarah opened his door for him, leaving him to get situated by himself. His tirade continued as she moved around to the driver's side.

"Your mother was a slut. Got herself knocked up. I married her so you wouldn't be a bastard but if I'd have known what a slut you'd turn out to be I wouldn't have bothered."

Sarah clenched her jaw and did her best to ignore her father as she drove through the streets toward home. She should have left him lying amongst the tree branches and ornaments. He would eventually have passed out and she could have had some peace while she finished dinner…

 _Oh, shit…_

She hadn't expected they'd be gone as long as they had; her turkey was now long-past cooked. It would be a dried out husk by now. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ She should have just dropped him off and gone home. He could have called when they were finished with him. But he'd begged her to stay, and, like an idiot, she'd rubbed his shoulder and promised not to leave. Now, dinner would be ruined, everything but that damn pie. Mac blinked back tears of frustration. Why did she try so hard when Joe always ruined it in the end?

As soon as she pulled into the driveway, she shut off the car and ran into the house. She could smell the overcooked turkey, and when she pulled open the oven door, it was obvious that there was no salvaging the bird. She shut off the oven and removed the roasting pan, setting it on the stove before she reached over and turned off the ruined beans. She surveyed the mess, trying to ignore the burnt smell hovering in the room, while her father stepped in behind her.

"What the hell is that?" Joe asked, pointing to the turkey. "Fucked up again, huh? Typical."

Sarah has had enough. She whirled around and pointed a finger at her father. "If _you_ hadn't gotten drunk, _you_ wouldn't have fallen into the tree, and _we_ would be eating Christmas dinner. This is _your_ fault, Joe. _Yours!"_ Sarah turned back around, only to feel a hand go around her arm in a punishing grip.

"What did you say girl?" Sarah stared back up at him defiantly.

"I said this was your fault."

She didn't see the hand that shot out struck he on the face, but she found herself reeling back, tasting blood in her mouth. The right side of her face stung and she stood there, stunned. Joe had never hit her before. Ever. She felt the tears coursing down her cheeks. Joe looked on, his craggy face gradually crumpling in horror.

"Oh, Sarah, baby, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. It won't happen again. I promise!"

Sarah looked on at him coldly. "Isn't that what you said to mom?"

Joe's eyes widened in surprise. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but then his shoulders slumped and, without saying anything more, he walked away.

She stared at the doorway Joe had just exited through for several seconds, then went about cleaning up the ruins of Christmas.

* * *

It was well into Christmas when Sarah finally finished her tasks. The kitchen was spotless, the tree completely gone, the needles and broken ornaments vacuumed away. There was just one more thing she wanted to do before she retired for the night.

Amongst the broken ornaments, she'd found one that her grandmother had given her when she was five. She'd always treasured it and it thankfully had only minimal damage. She thought she'd be able to glue it back together and decided to work on it now.

The repair of the ornament was rapidly accomplished and she carried it with her toward the stairs to her bedroom. As she passed by the dusty old mirror in the living room, she caught a glimpse of herself in it.

Except she saw her mother…

Sarah had a bruise on her cheek and dried blood on her lip where her father's hand had split it. She'd seen the same injuries on her mother countless times, and the shock of seeing her own face that way caused her to drop the precious ornament in her hand. This time, it did shatter, and the rush of grief and fury she felt overwhelmed her.

Her breathing grew fast and shallow and she needed to do something before she went upstairs and smothered a snoring Joe MacKenzie. She scanned the room, and her eyes settled on a bottle of bourbon that Joe had left out.

 _Maybe that would calm her down…one swallow wouldn't hurt…_

But it did hurt. Sarah had taken a small sip and it burned like fire going down her throat. She immediately dumped the rest of it. There had to be something better in the liquor cabinet. She knew even her mother sometimes had a drink to calm herself down.

Sarah moved bottles aside until she found what she was looking for. Vodka. She'd had a sip or two of it over the years and found it was fairly innocuous. She poured herself a glass and took a tentative sip. It went down smoothly, and she quickly downed the rest of the glass. She poured herself another, and before long she felt a calmness settle over her. That vodka was a good choice. Soon the second glass had been finished as well and a now mellow Sarah cleaned up the mess of the ornament she'd left by the stairs. She brought the remains into the kitchen to throw it away and as she turned away from the garbage, her eyes settle on her still pristine pumpkin pie. Of course, _that_ had survived.

 _Goddamned pie._

The rage overwhelmed her once again, so she went back to the living room for another glass of vodka. It was the best glass yet…

* * *

"She really did make the best pumpkin pie."

I think I jump at the sound of the voice near me. It's Joe, and if I had my arms I'd strangle him with them. "And I'm sure you told her that, often," I snap at him. I can't believe I ever felt sympathy for this monster next to me.

And I can't believe Sarah forgave him…

"Neither can I, Loren," Joe says. "I didn't deserve it."

I turn to him and he shrinks under my glare. "No you didn't," I say and I walk away.

* * *

 _End Chapter 4_


	5. The Whole Town Knows

_A/N: Another chapter. Sorry it's so depressing, but it kinda has to be. ;)_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 5: The Whole Town Knows**

I feel like hitting something. I'm angry at Joe, at Joseph, Rita (damn jingling bells), Elvis (he's on a 'Jailhouse Rock' kick at the moment), and John Lennon because he keeps singing 'Imagine.' The song never bothered me before, but now that whole line "Imagine there's no Heaven" line…no, it is NOT easy if you try. Maybe it's because I am… _was,_ a lawyer and dealt with actual evidence…and the evidence for Heaven is pretty blatantly obvious here…I find his song annoying and disrespectful.

No wonder he doesn't have his wings yet. Okay, maybe it was rude of me to actually say that to his face, but come on, even angels can only take so much.

Joseph has given me a slight reprieve…a few minutes to get my head together before I have to see more of the 'Sarah MacKenzie Show.' Which brings me back to why I'm so angry…

I'm angry, furious even, at myself. And that makes me pretty furious. Because why should I give a damn about Sarah MacKenzie?

And why do I feel utterly terrible about how I treated her when I was alive? What the hell? It's like I've suddenly developed a conscience. I half expect Jiminy Cricket to jump out and inform me that he's my new conscience. Pinocchio should have crushed that damn annoying bug under his little wooden foot.

Me, with a conscience…

I'm absently humming 'When You Wish Upon a Star' when Joseph comes up to me. "Oh boy, time for more?" I ask, and Joseph just nods. We walk together to the edge of Heaven and the clouds are already parting for me to see the little yellow MacKenzie house. Now it doesn't even have a screen door and the front porch is sagging precariously. Handy, Joe MacKenzie was not.

"So, Joseph, more holiday magic?" I ask rather snarkily, and the older angel just nods.

"It's nearly Christmas, 1985...Sarah is seventeen…

I nod and focus in on the scene. Before I get too far into it, Joseph taps me with his wing. "My dear Loren…you've always had a conscience…at times misguided, but it's always been there."

I look at him for a moment, then nod again as I turn back to my view of another MacKenzie Christmas. I feel Joseph step a little closer.

"Besides, we only bring out the cricket for very special cases." He winks at me, then saunters off.

Great. An archangel with a sense of humor…

* * *

 _MacKenzie Residence_

 _December 3_ _rd_ _, 1985_

Seventeen year old Sarah MacKenzie struggled with the lock on their front door. She really should replace it, but who had the time…and by time, she meant money. Joe had been fired from his last job a month ago and funds were scarce. He supposedly was going to be starting a new job after the new year but until then…

Sarah gave the key a final turn and bumped the door with her hip, and to her great frustration, the key broke off in the lock. Cursing in frustration, she gathered up her cleaning supplies and took them around to the back door.

Sarah worked a couple of days a week after school and on some weekends cleaning houses for some of the teaching staff at her high school. It seemed they were all married to doctors and lawyers, thus could afford to pay to have someone to clean up their messes for them. She didn't really mind the work; it kept her away from home a bit and it was money. She was trying to save money for college and except for the money she spent on vodka, she was doing quite well.

Vodka…speaking of…she could really use a drink, but then, what else was new, she thought ruefully. It had come a daily occurrence now. Before it was just a couple drinks if she'd had a bad day or if her father had been extra colorful in his descriptions of her loose behavior. Gradually it had evolved into having a drink to celebrate too…if she did well on a test, if she got an extra big tip after a cleaning job…and now it was just a nightly ritual. She tried to limit herself to one drink on school nights, but since her father had been out of work, her stress level had gone up exponentially, so two, sometimes even three so she could sleep had become the norm.

Sarah listened for her father, finding him sprawled across the faded sofa, snoring. She carefully tip-toed to the liquor cabinet, noting with chagrin that Joe was low on bourbon again. She'd kept him well-supplied during his unemployment; she knew she was enabling him but the alternative was an angry Joe MacKenzie who liked to tear apart her room looking for the cash he knew his daughter had squirreled away. Too bad for him, she kept the majority of her money in a lockbox at Eddie's. Sarah made a mental note to call Eddie and have him tell his cousin to buy more bourbon. Another bottle of vodka too…the cheap stuff; her funds were dwindling too much with all the booze she had buy for Joe.

With a final glance at her snoring father, Sarah picked up the bottle of vodka, grabbed a glass from the kitchen and went up to her room to study.

Today was actually a good day. She had been cleaning her sophomore algebra teacher's house this afternoon, and while that was nothing new or different, she'd met Mrs. Johanssen's husband today. He was a lawyer, and whenever Sarah cleaned there, she'd take a look at the law books in his study as she cleaned it.

This time, as she read about a particularly fascinating case, Mr. Johanssen walked in. She'd apologized profusely, but he'd only smiled and, after introducing himself, asked her about the case she'd been reading about. He knew it well, and he spent the next several minutes telling her about it while she dusted. She hadn't been that interested in a subject in a long time.

Sarah would be cleaning the Johanssen house again next week and Mr. Johanssen offered to tell her about some of his more current cases. She couldn't wait. Maybe someday she'd be a great lawyer too.

Sarah was so excited about next week's law lesson that for once she completely forgot about the vodka on her desk.

It had been a _great_ day.

* * *

 _Christmas Eve, 1985_

 _MacKenzie Residence_

It had been a terrible day. She'd been fired from yet another cleaning job, all because of a lie. The best part…Mrs. Kemp had kept her on until she could help set up for her annual Christmas Eve party, fired her as soon as Sarah had finished and then didn't even give her a tip.

What led up to her loss of employment still caused her to burn with shame, and she hadn't even done anything.

Last week, she'd been discussing a case with Mr. Johanssen. The week before he'd told her about two cases as she cleaned, and Sarah was an eager listener. The intricacies of the law were fascinating and she couldn't stop asking questions. Mr. J, as he requested she call him, answered every question patiently and had even let her borrow a few books.

And for the first week in a long time, Sarah didn't drink. It wasn't like her home situation had improved, and this new passion was certainly something to celebrate, but merely thinking about going to law school someday, maybe even interning at Mr. J's firm this summer, gave her a sense of calm and joy that alcohol never did. Life was…good. Or at least better…

Until last week when it all came tumbling down. Sarah had been sitting at Mr. J's desk when he leaned over and pointed something out in the text. It was all very innocent, and Sarah had never picked up any vibe from Mr. J that he saw her as anything other than an eager student.

Mrs. J apparently thought differently…

The older woman walked into the study and suddenly Sarah found herself the subject of bitter accusations that Sarah was trying to seduce her husband. Mr. J did his best to defend her and Sarah insisted her former teacher was wrong, but it didn't matter. Mrs. J branded her a Jezebel and fired her on the spot. She'd run home in tears and spent the remaining afternoon and night getting completely drunk. She'd woken up so sick that for the first time in years she'd missed school.

The next day, she'd heard whispers wherever she went. Sarah MacKenzie was a slut. She was a home wrecker. Nothing but a whore. Several teachers had come up to her and told her not to bother coming back to their houses. Some flat out told her that they didn't want someone like her around their children.

Sarah was utterly humiliated. She'd never come on to any of their husbands, although a couple had certainly come on to her, and the injustice of it all broke her fragile heart. Before the week was over, Sarah MacKenzie was known as the tramp of Yuma high school. She who was actually still a virgin had developed a reputation she'd never be able to shake.

Now it was Christmas Eve. This year there was no Christmas tree, no Christmas Eve dinner, and certainly no presents. The job Joe had had lined up for the new year had fallen through, not that she had planned on any of the normal Christmas trappings anyway, but now it was hello food stamps. She knew she'd be the one filling out the paperwork for that…just one more thing on her entirely too full plate.

Joe was passed out on the couch again. For a moment, Sarah stood over him as her fists gradually clenched and rage built. She needed to get out of here. Eddie had invited her to his cousin's Christmas party and she'd turned him down, but now it seemed like the perfect escape.

Sarah called Eddie, changed her clothes, and as soon as Eddie pulled up in his old Impala, they were on their way.

* * *

 _Later…_

"Eddie, come on, wake up!" Mac shook her friend's shoulder. "I wanna go home. _Eddie!"_

The party had been a bust. There had been plenty of beer and Sarah had had enough to make herself dizzy, but for the most part, she spent her time fending off unwanted male attention. Apparently her reputation had preceded her. Eddie would never have said anything like that about her, but Sarah recognized the son of one of her teachers. No doubt he'd had an earful at home about her loose ways.

It was all so disheartening. Maybe it would be easier to become the slut they thought she was…at least the whispers behind her back would have done truth to them…no, she wouldn't do that…

She gave Eddie one last shake and nearly shouted at him to wake up and take her home, but Eddie was beyond her reach. She sighed in disgust and turned away from him, nearly running into a man she'd never seen before.

"Whoa…where's the fire, beautiful?"

Something in Sarah snapped. "Fuck you," she shouted, glaring up at…well, the best looking man she'd ever seen. He had the sexiest more-than-five-o'clock shadow, wavy hair that went to his shoulders, and the most striking blue eyes she'd ever seen. _He_ was the beautiful one.

And she'd just insulted him…

He stared down at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, but then he laughed. "Maybe later…but definitely not on a first date."

She was stunned for a moment, but then found herself laughing as well.

"Your boyfriend doesn't seem like he's in any condition to drive."

Sarah glanced back at the still unconscious Eddie. "He's not my boyfriend."

The young man's smile widened. "That's the best thing I've heard all night. Hey, I'll get you home. What's your name?"

She hesitated a moment, but there was nothing about this man that scared her. She suddenly knew he was destined to be a more than just a chance meeting, so she smiled back and held out her hand. "Sarah MacKenzie."

He took the proffered hand in his large, delightful rough one and squeezed.

"Chris. Chris Ragle."

* * *

"Don't fall for it, Sarah!" I find myself shouting down from above. The scene fades as the clouds close over it, and I find I'm not alone. Two men are standing beside me, both sporting white, silver-tipped wings. I don't recognize them, but I know they have some association with Sarah. Because, they're, well, here…

"We do," says the older man.

"So who are you?" I ask him, rather belligerently, though I don't know why. Actually I do know why…that's just me. He doesn't answer me right away so I picture myself glaring at him impatiently. "Well?"

The man is staring downward, although there is nothing to see other than a roiling mass of clouds.

"Someone who let her down once." Leave it to an angel to be cryptic. I know I'm rolling my eyes now and he gives me a sad smile. He does actually look familiar…

"Michael Johannsen." _Of course._

"The lawyer." He nods.

"She was so eager to learn and asked the most insightful questions. I had visions of her being a famous lawyer, Supreme Court justice. She had so much potential…and my wife ruined that. I never thought of her as anything but a bright young girl…she reminded me of my niece that had died the year before and I just wanted this girl to succeed. I'm ashamed I didn't do more to defend her to my wife and her friends."

He really looks sad now and I feel the unfamiliar urge to comfort him. "Well, she's a Lt. Colonel in the marines and she is a lawyer. A great one," I add begrudgingly.

Mr. J nods. "But she lost part of her soul the day my wife walked in on us."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod back. " I don't trust that guy," I say, referring to that Ragle character.

"You shouldn't." The younger man speaks and I turn toward him.

"Eddie, I presume?"

The man nods and looks unbelievably sad. "I let her down too."

I look between the two despondent angels.

"I think everybody did."

* * *

End _Chapter 5_


	6. A Toast to My Big Brother

_A/N: And here's Chapter 6! Does anyone have trouble following Mac's timeline? She sure seemed to do a lot between the ages of 17 and 19. Leaving home, getting married, graduating high school, her last ride with Eddie, drying out, joining the marines, going to college…jeez._

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 6: A Toast to My Big Brother**

I'm not sure Joseph should be giving me these breaks between the Sarah MacKenzie sessions. It gives me too much time to think.

And I don't like what I'm thinking.

You see, I'm now seeing a kindred spirit in my former superior officer…hmmmm, since I'm an angel, do I outrank her now? I'll have to think about that. But back to the matter at hand…

It's true that I didn't grow up in as quite a dysfunctional home as Sarah. My parents had money but not gobs of it, and neither drank nor hit each other. They just… _ignored_ me, unless they were comparing me to my older brother. He died when he was sixteen, before I was even born. Yeah, I was already an afterthought before I was conceived. My parents were forty-two and forty-nine when I was born; neither expected nor wanted any more children after they'd failed to produce a spare to go along with their heir after three or four years of trying. But then I came along…a somewhat unwelcome surprise after they'd just lost their golden boy. You would have thought I'd have been the miracle to bring joy back into their lives, but…well, let's just say they didn't think of it that way. I suppose it could have been worse…I've been told I was always an independent child so at least I didn't "need" them so much.

But then again, maybe I was that way because of the way they were.

So, back to my brother, Steven. He was a jock. Top of his class. Good looking. There was nothing he touched that didn't turn to gold. And God, _(sorry),_ I hated him.

Don't judge. You try competing with a dead guy. My grades were never good enough. I detested team sports. My hair never had the golden sheen of his curling locks. In short, I certainly was _not_ Steven the Sequel. My parents never called me names or straight-out told me they were disappointed, but I knew. Steven was, in effect, the first person to stand in the way of what I wanted. He was also the only one I could never hope to defeat. Because you _can't_ compete with a dead guy.

So why do feel Sarah and I are kindred spirits? Well…

Neither of us felt wanted. Neither of us had good relationships with our parents. Both of us…hurt, which, despite our different experiences, gives us something sadly in common. God, _(sorry),_ I hate admitting that. Perhaps if I'd been a little more, well, less _me,_ we could have been…friends—or at least friendly. I wish I would have known about her childhood. Oh, who am I kidding. I would have found a way to exploit it if I knew about her parents.

I didn't see my own parents all that often, barely even thought about them, really. I probably thought of Steven more despite having never met him. Steven was killed in a hit and run when he was coming back from the homecoming dance. No…the town didn't ban dancing after that, in case you were wondering. My mother found out she was pregnant a week after Steven's funeral.

Sometimes I wonder what I'd have been like if my mother wasn't grieving the entire time she carried me. Maybe I would have done better with… _her._ Well, there's no use thinking about it, and Joseph is coming my way again.

Time for more Sarah Cinema…

* * *

"We must hurry now…time is short for Sarah and there is still much to be seen," Joseph says gravely, ushering me toward the edge of Heaven once again. "Things will be moving faster now, my dear Loren, so please pay attention. Now…since we last saw Sarah, she has married the man she met at last year's Christmas party."

 _Oh, shit…_

I expect Joseph to admonish me in some way for my mental profanity, but he surprises me.

"Yes, quite," he says. If I could see myself, I'm sure my jaw would be hanging down. Joseph turns toward me and smiles slightly. "Child of God though he is, Christopher Ragle was _not_ good for our Sarah."

I'm sure I nod, but then a tiny tidbit of memory surfaces. "Hey, didn't she, uh…he's dead, isn't he?

Joseph nods.

"Is he…" I look down, wondering if Chris Ragle now spends his days in a much drier climate.

"No, he isn't…but he has a few more steps to go through before he can try for his wings," Joseph answers.

"Ah…so, what's next? More Christmas cheer?" I ask sarcastically. Sarah MacKenzie and Christmas don't seem to mix. The clouds start to part, and I'm treated to a vision of a dilapidated old trailer in an equally dilapidated trailer park. There's trash strewn about, but there's actually something homey about this particular abode. Christmas lights adorn the windows, and they twinkle cheerily in the dark.

Joseph draws me closer to the edge and motions downward. "Christmas Eve 1986. Sarah has been married for the last two months and she has been working all day on preparations for her first holiday with her husband…

* * *

 _Christmas Eve 1986_

 _Ragle Residence_

Eighteen-year-old Sarah MacKenzie-Ragle checked the clock, then laughed at herself. Her time-sense, even when she'd had too much to drink, never failed her, but she supposed she was just a little nervous. She had been laboring all day on a Christmas feast for her new husband, wanting to surprise him with a festively decorated home and a traditional Christmas dinner. They were going to his sister's house tomorrow, or at least, that was the plan, and Chris had warned her that Natalie was a terrible cook. So, at least her husband would have one good meal this year.

Sarah had made two pumpkin pies this year, one for tonight and one for tomorrow. Both of them were as pretty as ever, and she decided that this year she might even taste one.

She couldn't deny that she was excited. Sure, their home wasn't fancy, but she'd saved what money she could to make the place cheery. She'd set up the tree once the turkey was in the oven; it was only a cheap little fake one but after she'd added lights and ornaments that she'd made herself out of Christmas cards, it became lovely. There was only one small gift underneath it, a dress shirt and tie for Chris's upcoming job interview, but Sarah knew somewhere Chris had hidden an engagement ring. Sure, they were already married, but he promised he'd give her something to replace an old one of his sister's that they'd used during the ceremony.

Sarah checked on the turkey and the potatoes, then decided she deserved a little sip of wine. Normally, she avoided the stuff, preferring the smooth taste of vodka, but wine seemed more appropriate for Christmas. In the last month she hadn't drunk all that much, wanting to save the cash for the holiday celebration, and she wondered fleetingly if she could give it up completely. She'd consider it…it would certainly make studying easier.

Speaking of…

There was a report due on _Crime and Punishment_ by Fyodor Dostoyevsky once school was back in session, and she was nearly finished with the book. Despite having left home, despite her marriage, and despite her nightly drinking, she still managed to keep up with school and she had every intention of graduating in the spring. College may be out of reach at the moment, but if Chris got the job at the bank, they'd be sitting fairly well. With some creative budgeting, something she'd been doing at home for years, she could probably work part time while attending night courses. Sarah could at least get her generals done that way.

Sarah decided to read the last few pages of _Crime and Punishment_ while she waited for the turkey to be ready and for Chris to return. Settling into the old, sagging sofa, Sarah picked up the rather fascinating novel and began to read.

* * *

Sarah checked the clock above the stove again. She'd already known what time it was, but since she'd expected Chris two hours ago, she wanted the clock to confirm it.

 _Where could he be?_

Sarah took another sip of wine, trying to calm her rising fear.

* * *

Three hours later, Sarah was frantic. She'd heard nothing from Chris, and her perfect Christmas dinner now lay cold and ruined on their rickety kitchen table. She'd called the hospitals in the area, even ones in the nearby towns, but no one knew of a Chris Ragle being brought in. Finally, she decided to call the police station, terrified that they'd tell her he'd died in an accident or a robbery or something.

Ten minutes later she hung up the phone. The police officer she'd spoken to had been gruff but sympathetic to the young wife of the man they'd just arrested for grand theft auto, but he certainly didn't sugarcoat things. Sarah knew in her heart that the accusations were true and with the benefit of hindsight, she should have known he had something going on the side.

Trying desperately not to cry, she gathered up the remains of her lovingly prepared dinner and tossed it in the trash, dishes and all. Once that was accomplished, she turned around to see her tree twinkling happily at her. Five minutes later, the plastic and metal branches lay around her, the paper ornaments crushed flat from her shoes. Sarah was sobbing now, and the final insult was the sight of those damn pumpkin pies.

Every time she made one of those things it turned out better and better, and now they sat on the counter and mocked her. She grabbed the one for tonight and heaved it toward the wall, grimly satisfied as chunks of it splattered there and fell to the floor. She stared for several seconds at the remaining pie and, knowing there would be no way she could face Chris's family now, the second pie followed the path of the first.

Once her tears were spent, Sarah drank down the rest of the wine and three of the wretchedly cheap beers Chris always kept on hand. She fell asleep on the floor and woke up hours later on Christmas Day, hungover and miserable, packed all of her things in a pathetically small duffel bag and left the trailer, going first to the jail. She spoke to Chris one last time, he, of course, denying everything, then left him behind.

She never looked back.

* * *

The clouds close over the scene of a defiant Sarah MacKenzie leaving the county lock-up. Joseph is still by my side, and he tells me to take a couple of minutes to absorb what I've just seen before we need to dive in again.

Good lord, how much is a person supposed to deal with? And on Christmas. Jesus, even my parents were nice and happy on Christmas. What the ever loving he—"

"Whoa, there, missy," an unfamiliar voice says close to my… _ear?_ I turn toward it, and there's a smug looking blond man (boy?) next to me. It's weird. One moment I see him as an adult, the next as a little boy, and then as a teenager. Actually, I can see that all at once. He looks vaguely familiar, and for some reason I want to smack him.

"Just try it, Loren," he laughs, and proceeds to unfurl his gold-tipped wings like he's some sort of strutting peacock.

I look him up and down. "And who, pray tell, are you?" I ask, my voice dripping acid.

The man-boy has the audacity to laugh again. _For god's sake…_

He grins winningly, and I swear his teeth must be encrusted with diamonds.

"Loren, Loren…don't you recognize your own brother?"

"Steven?"

"Uh-huh." The smug look is back on his face and now I really, _really_ want to smack him.

"Oh, Loren…we could have had so much fun together."

I look him straight in those sapphire blue eyes. "Like hell."

His laugh rings throughout Heaven and I wonder who wouldn't want to smack this man-boy-god-smug bastard.

 _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…_

* * *

 _End Chapter 6_


	7. Hoarding Pennies

_A/N: Welcome to Chapter 7 and a Happy Thanksgiving to all! This is sort of a filler chapter, I think…_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 7: Hoarding Pennies**

"So, Loren…how're Mom and Dad?" I turn to my… _brother_ , glaring at him incredulously.

"How the hell would I know? I've been dead for…well, I've been dead." Those blue eyes of his just blink at me. "Fine," I say after a couple of seconds. "The last time I saw them, they were fine."

Steven's expression morphs into one of sadness, and I try to tell myself I prefer it to that knowing, smug look he's worn since I met him. "I've always felt terrible that I had to leave them." His eyes slide away from mine and as he looks out over Heaven, I sense he's seeing something else. He doesn't say anything more for several seconds and I find myself feeling increasingly uncomfortable…because I'm starting to feel kind of bad that I left my parents too. We stand in awkward silence for a few beats more and I can't take it anymore. I mean, Steven looks so… _sad._ I find myself patting his arm, not even noticing at first that I can actually see my arm too.

"You didn't get hit on purpose—you didn't mean to die." He looks down at me and finally gives me a sad smile, his hand covering mine.

"No, Loren, I didn't. And neither did you." I find myself squirming under his intense gaze and I have to look away.

"No, I guess not," I whisper.

"And no matter what, Loren, no matter what happened that led up to your death, no matter why you were on that bridge…you didn't deserve what happened to you."

I notice one of his wings is now hovering around me. He's right I suppose…I didn't deserve to be murdered.

 _Murdered. I was murdered._

And for some reason, no matter what my brother says, I can't help thinking that it was my fault. If I hadn't…the memory is still fuzzy, but I know if I hadn't done _something_ I wouldn't have been on that bridge and I'd… _she'd_ still be…I shake myself, trying to shake those thoughts away.

"So, Steven," I say after a minute, not liking the heavy silence around us. "How did you earn those fancy wings?"

Steven smirks at me. "Looking for tips?"

"Yeah, gold ones," I answer back, motioning toward the adornments on the edges of his wings. Steven laughs, and for some reason it doesn't make me want to smack him like it did before.

Steven pats me on the head with one of his pretty wings, which annoys me, of course, then motions toward Joseph, who's heading this way. _Ugh._ More Christmas joy.

"I'll talk to you later, Loren." He grows serious again. "For what it's worth, Loren, I'm sorry I left before you were born. I would have loved having a little sister."

"Don't be so sure of that," I answer, not knowing what else to say because, and this really irritates me, because I'm starting to feel the stirrings of something like affection for this other Singer.

"It's okay, Loren. I like you too," he says, laughing as he walks away, leaving me standing alone next to Joseph.

* * *

"Ready, my dear child?" Joseph asks, motioning me toward the edge of Heaven again.

"Do I have a choice?"

"My dear child, we always have a choice."

I'm sure I roll my eyes as I lean over to watch the roiling clouds start to separate. "Yeah, let's get on with it."

Joseph nods and I find we are looking at a snow-covered city street, something far different than the Arizona holidays I've witnessed previously. "It's winter in Minneapolis, Christmas 1987…Sarah has been sober for six months and she's just finished her first semester of college. She's in the marine ROTC program, and things are going well for her."

I turn back toward Joseph, surprised. "Then why are we watching this?"

"Because, Loren, good things also shape a person. Of course, Sarah still has a lot of things to overcome emotionally. Much is still difficult her; trust is not something that comes easily despite being surrounded by far more positive influences."

Well, that I can certainly understand. Trust was never my strong suit, and this is yet another thing Sarah MacKenzie and I have in common. Sad that I'm only finding this out now when I am dead, and she wants to be.

"The scenes we will be seeing now start the transition period between her youth and her time at JAG. Shall we begin?"

I nod, anxious to get started…or more likely, anxious to get finished. The images below me sharpen, and the story continues…

* * *

 _December 1987_

 _University of Minnesota_

 _Minneapolis, MN_

Sarah MacKenzie watched as her roommate Joan closed the last of her bags. "Are you sure I can't talk you into coming with me?" Joan was a creative writing major from northern Minnesota, and as much as the two women got along and as sincere as Joan sounded, Sarah was sure she was just being nice.

"No…thank you, though. I signed up for some extra shifts at work anyway."

Joan looked at her critically. "You work too much, Sarah. And I hate that you are going to be alone on Christmas."

"I'll be fine, Joan. You'd better get going—didn't you say it was supposed to snow up there tonight?" Joan waved away her concern.

"When doesn't it snow up there?" she asked with a smile.

"Good point. I knew it was going to be different here than in Arizona, but I really didn't expect it to be this cold, and frankly, nothing prepared me for all the snow." Sarah knew her family had been stationed in places that had a real winter, but she hadn't even been four years old when they'd moved back to Arizona.

"You think this is cold and snowy…mom said that it was twenty-three below this morning up there!"

Sarah shivered at the thought of it. "Yeah…that's fine…I'll just stay here," she said, her eyes wide as Joan laughed. She surprised Sarah by throwing her arms around the taller woman.

"Merry Christmas, Sarah. I'm glad we're roommates!"

Sarah hesitated then found herself hugging Joan back. "Me—me, too. Merry Christmas, Joan."

Joan let go of her and grabbed her two bags after she threw her backpack over her shoulder. "See you next year, Sarah!" she called cheerily, and disappeared through the door.

Sarah sighed and sat down on her bed. The Christmas break stretched before her and she felt a twinge of sadness that her family wasn't like everyone else's. On the other hand, for once she knew there was no chance that someone was going to ruin her holiday. She took comfort in that; she had no desire to relive last year's Christmas, nor any of the Christmases from the time she'd turned seven.

Tomorrow, she was going to work a double shift at the café just off campus. It was popular with students but also got significant business from the locals. Now, with the student workforce markedly diminished for the holiday break, they welcomed Sarah's willingness to work several extra shifts. She'd get double pay on Christmas, which was attractive to her. It gave her somewhere to be on the day itself, and she was saving whatever she could so that she could not only cover the standard tuition and room and board, but also for extra credits beyond the normal twelve to sixteen that other students carried. She was determined to graduate in three years. So far, so good…she had done extremely well in all her classes this past semester and she felt very confident that her finals had gone just as well.

Life had been going well…

It had been a wretched year, there was no doubt of that. There had been Chris's arrest and conviction; he'd be in prison for at least five years, she was assured. They weren't yet divorced, but she certainly wasn't going be there when he at last was released. She made a mental note to talk to legal aid about a divorce in the new year.

Next came more and more drinking. It was a wonder that she managed to graduate with the grades she had; she'd missed about as many days of school as they would allow being sick and hungover. Sometimes she'd smuggled a little thermos of vodka in, when the pain of her failed marriage, her unfounded reputation as a slut (she still only ever been with Chris, despite what any of them thought), and the general chaos of her existence got to be too much.

And then there was the accident…the night of graduation, she and Eddie had gotten into an accident. Both were nearly blind drunk and Eddie should never have been driving, which resulted in her holding Eddie amongst blood and glass, watching as the life flowed out of his eyes. Her own injuries didn't register with her until she'd awakened a week later in the hospital, Uncle Matt hovering above her wearing a unique expression of profound disappointment combined with profound love. He told her that she'd spent a few days withdrawing from alcohol—hallucinating even, and that she would be coming with him as soon as she was released. They'd headed up to Red Rock Mesa, where she'd spent a month drying out. She couldn't deny that she still craved alcohol, especially vodka, but it was getting easier. It helped to throw herself into her studies and she'd managed to get the top grade posted before finals in each of her classes.

 _Take that, Joe MacKenzie_. She sent the silent message to the father that told her she'd never amount to anything.

* * *

 _Christmas Eve, 1987_

 _Minneapolis, MN_

Sarah drew her coat closer around her, thankful she'd splurged on the warmest goose down parka she could find. Joan had told her that while it was colder up north than it was here, it tended to be windier in the cities. Sarah didn't doubt this as another gust of wind nearly pushed her off the sidewalk.

She'd just finished a short shift at the café in anticipation of the double she'd pull on Christmas Day and was walking home. For some reason, she'd decided to take the long way; despite the cold, she felt compelled to turn right out of the café instead of left. Her boss, Jackie, had offered to give her a ride home since it was dark, but Sarah had declined for the same reason she'd turned right.

The street was festively decorated, and for just a moment, Sarah felt a stab of grief that she wasn't currently in a warm home with a mother and father, maybe even a couple of siblings, that loved her. She blinked back a few tears, wondering if she should turn around and go back the way she came, but then she heard it.

The strains of "Joy to the World" filled the night air and Sarah realized then that she was standing outside a Catholic church. A quick glance at the sign in front of it told her they were in the middle of a Christmas Eve mass and for a moment she just stood there, listening to the beautiful organ music.

She warred with herself for several seconds; should she go in or should she just walk on? She'd been christened in the Catholic church and used to accompany her grandmother and sometimes Uncle Matt to Christmas services. Her parents occasionally took her to mass, but those times were few and far between, and there had been many times throughout the years when she'd questioned how there could be a God that would let her suffer so.

Finally, Sarah found herself climbing the stairs and opening the heavy wooden doors. The warmth of the place flowed around her, and for several seconds she just stood in the vestibule, listening to the parishioners sing along with grand pipe organ. Just before the song ended, she slipped into a pew in the far back of the church, the only pew not occupied.

She had intended to slip out during the last hymn, but before she knew it, the last of the congregation had slipped out of the sanctuary, leaving her sitting alone while the last strains of the postlude faded away. She jumped when a voice close to her ear roused her out of her reverie.

"Did you enjoy the service?" Sarah looked up to see an older priest standing next to her.

"Oh, yes…I'm sorry, I must have…lost track…" She quickly stood and slipped out of the pew. "Um, it was lovely. I'll be going…"

"There's no hurry. Besides, I can guarantee you that right now everybody's fighting to get out of the parking lot before everyone else. Often best to just wait until it's cleared out a bit."

"Um, I, uh, walked…so no—no problem…" Sarah was surprised when the organ music started again, the organist this time playing a chorale by Bach. It was so beautiful that Sarah's eyes instantly filled with tears.

"Oh, my dear child…are you alright?" The priest's gaze was filled with concern and Sarah was quick to reassure him.

"No, no, I'm fine…it's just that the music is so beautiful, and it's been a while since I've been to mass at Christmas. I miss it." She found that she truly did.

The priest smiled at her. "Mr. Jordan, our organist, likes to practice for the next service; he'll probably play for an hour or so. Why don't you just sit here and enjoy it?"

Sarah was about to turn him down, but then she decided that she really would like nothing better than to stay and listen. This could be her own little Christmas celebration. "I would like that. Thank you," she answered. The priest nodded and smiled.

"You're welcome. I'm Father O'Hara, by the way. Feel free to come back anytime."

Sarah's eyes widened at the familiar name, thinking that if she couldn't spend Christmas with her own Uncle Matt O'Hara, she would be happy to spend it here with another O'Hara.

An hour later, Sarah stood back up and drew her coat around her once again. When she stepped out into the vestibule, her eye caught a little sign on the bulletin board.

 _Part-time housekeeper needed._ She took a closer look at the notice and found that it involved a few hours a week cleaning the church. It didn't appear that it would interfere with her classes and her other job, and when she looked behind her, she saw Father O'Hara stepping down from the altar. She pulled the notice off the board, and with an odd excitement, she turned and headed up the aisle to talk to Father O'Hara about the job.

* * *

The clouds once again swirl together, and I'm surprised we've ended on a fairly satisfying note.

I'm not sure what to do with that.


	8. Dinner is Served

_A/N: Chapter 8! Now I gotta go do some laundry._

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 8: Dinner is Served**

Just as soon as the previous Christmas scene ends, the clouds part again and I see visions of Christmases in Okinawa, law school, and Bosnia. While a sense of loneliness always seemed to lay heavy on each scene, none of them were hurtful in any way. I'm grateful for that…if things had gone on like they had before Sarah sobered up and went to college, I think my services would have been needed much sooner. Well, _someone's_ services…I was still alive during those times and we all know I would have been absolutely no help to her. A flash of memory goes through my brain, and suddenly I'm filled with shame. No, the only help I ever gave her was to help her nearly get disbarred. You see, I left something in her car once that she shouldn't have seen, and, while I vehemently denied doing it to her chief protector, he knew I was lying. _Lord,_ I was a bitch.

"Yes, you were a tad misguided, Loren," Joseph says next to me, and I have to laugh.

"If that's what you want to call it, J."

"J?" My angelic companion raises an eyebrow at me.

"Sorry, _Joseph."_

"I've been called worse, my dear. A word of advice, though…don't call Michael 'Mike'. It makes him a bit testy."

"Why?"

Joseph actually shrugs. "Why does anything make Michael testy?" he answers cryptically. I guess that's all I'm going to get.

"So…what's next?" I ask, again wanting to get started so I can get finished.

"It's Christmas 1997," he says as he motions for the clouds to part. Mac has—"

"Don't you mean Sarah?"

Joseph shakes his head. "She goes by Mac now. She prefers it; it makes her feel strong. Only a handful of people call her Sarah anymore, and when they do it reminds her of her past and makes her feel vulnerable. There are a couple of exceptions; she doesn't mind her Uncle Matt calling her Sarah. She wouldn't mind if her new friend Harm called her that occasionally. But, with everyone else, she wishes they'd call her Mac."

"I see." Of course, I only ever addressed her as 'Colonel MacKenzie' when I was alive and now I can only see her as 'Sarah'. I suppose that's natural when you watch someone grow up. I motion for Joseph to continue.

"Our Mac has been at JAG a little less than a year. It hasn't always been easy for her, but she has finally started to feel settled. This is due in a large part to her friendship with—"

"The boy scout?" I say sarcastically. Apparently, I still harbor some bitterness toward him, although I don't entirely know why.

Joseph looks at me knowingly. "Yes…Harmon Rabb, Jr. She's never had a friend like him, and she's opened up to him in ways she never has before…"

The clouds completely separate and the picture clears, and I'm suddenly immersed in the place where I lived and worked with Sar— _Mac._

* * *

 _December 1997_

 _JAG Headquarters_

 _Falls Church, VA_

"Come on, Mac. Your client should take the deal. Two years confinement, reduction in rank, forfeiture—"

" _One_ year, no reduction in rank, no forfeiture of pay, and—"

" _Maaac."_

"Harm, Corporal Mason is not going to go for that deal. I wouldn't be any kind of lawyer if I advised him to take said deal."

Mac stepped into the small breakroom, Harm close on her heels. It was just a typical day for them, alternating between commiserating and bickering over their shared cases, and Mac knew she had never been this energized at any of her previous postings. She poured herself a cup of coffee and once she'd added her sugar, she leaned against the counter, waiting for Harm to pour his own. Once again, she found herself admiring his large, strong hands; so intent was she on them that she didn't hear him calling her name.

"Mac? _Mac?_ Come on, Earth to Sarah!"

It was the sound of her given name on his lips that brought her out of her stupor, and to her chagrin she found herself blushing, her heartbeat speeding up as she looked into those intriguing blue eyes. "Um, yeah, Harm?"

Harm flashed that flyboy grin of his. "I was asking what you were doing for Christmas."

"Oh." She wasn't expecting that question, mainly because she really hadn't thought of the answer. "Um, I don't—I don't really have plans. You?"

"Officer of the Day."

Mac was surprised at that. Usually that task fell to one of the more junior officers. "What did you do to piss off the admiral this time, Harm?" She smiled to show him she was teasing.

"Nothing, I swear…I just…well, those with families should be able to spend Christmas with them."

"You're not spending it with Annie?" _Neurotic Annie,_ Mac said to herself as Harm shook his head.

"She and Josh are visiting her parents in Ohio." He came over to lean against the counter next to her. "What about Lowne? He out of town too?"

Mac nodded. "Yeah…his mother's family has a place in Montauk—he goes there every year. He invited me to go with him, but I…" She ended her words with a shrug.

"Not ready for that?"

"It isn't that…" The trouble was, Mac couldn't offer any other reason, at least not to Harm. She'd told Dalton she had too many cases pending so couldn't take off the time, which wasn't entirely untrue…but that certainly wasn't all of it. She shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess maybe…"

The two of them stood silently for a few moments before Mac spoke again. "What about your parents? Will you see them?" Harm didn't talk a lot about his mother and stepfather. She knew his father had been shot down over Vietnam when he had been around six years old and that they had moved to La Jolla, California after his mother had remarried. She thought Harm had been around twelve or thirteen at the time, and from a few comments he'd made, she knew he didn't get along all that well with his stepfather.

Harm didn't answer her right away, and for a moment Mac worried she'd crossed some sort of line.

"I'm sorry, Harm. I didn't mean—"

"No, no, Mac," he quick to reassure her. "I _should_ visit more; I just—yeah, I should. Maybe next year…they're on a cruise to New Zealand now anyway."

Mac nodded; she didn't know what else to say or do. But then an idea formed in her mind. "So, you'll be here all day on Christmas?" Harm nodded. She smiled sympathetically and patted his arm. "Sorry about that," she said, but in her mind she was already preparing a list of what she wanted to get done.

* * *

Mac, her arms laden with multiple grocery bags, pushed her way into her apartment. Once she was able to set them down and change out of her uniform, she unpacked it all and surveyed her purchases. She had what had to be the world's smallest turkey, potatoes, ingredients to make her green bean casserole, and everything she needed for her pumpkin pie.

Mac hadn't made a Christmas dinner in years, not since her ill-fated Christmas Eve dinner the night Chris had been arrested. She was confident she still remembered how, though, and she smiled as she imagined surprising Harm with it on Christmas Day. She knew he was mostly a vegetarian, but she'd seen him eat chicken and fish before. She hoped his ability to eat those meats extended to eating turkey.

Knowing she was working against the clock, she got down to work.

* * *

 _Christmas Day 1997_

 _JAG Headquarters_

"Surprise."

Harm looked up from a stack of papers on his desk. "Mac! What're you doing here?" He definitely looked surprised but happy to see her, she thought.

"I brought dinner. Didn't want you to have to slum it with a limp salad and a cold turkey sandwich from the cafeteria."

Harm shrugged. "Eh, not much for Christmas dinner anyway."

Mac felt the bitter sting of disappointment. In fact, she felt the sting of tears. She thought she'd best make a hasty retreat. "Well, uh…it's uh there for you anyway. I'll be going…" She turned away from Harm's door and took a step toward the bullpen doors.

"Oh my god, Mac, that came out wrong." She heard him standing up from behind his desk, but she kept on walking. "Mac, _wait!"_

Mac did stop then, mainly because she felt his hand on her arm, the warmth of his fingers seeping through her blouse. She looked down at his hand for several seconds then finally looked up at his face. She watched as a faint blush rose up in his cheeks before she met his pleading gaze. "I'm sorry, Mac…it's just, well, Christmas…my dad…oh, shit, Mac…"

Mac suddenly felt his thumb brush across her cheek, a cool sensation following behind it as the remainder of her tear evaporated from her skin.

"Mac, I'm so sorry. That really _did_ come out wrong; can we start this over? Please?" He looked so mortified at hurting her feelings that she actually felt bad for him.

"Sure, Harm." He smiled brilliantly and she couldn't help smiling back.

"Okay, Mac…where is this Christmas feast you've prepared?"

* * *

"When did you have a time to fix all this?" Harm asked as he surveyed the meal laid out on the conference room table. There was turkey, of course, along with stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, pie…

"Um…there's a grocery near my apartment…it was no big deal…" She wondered why she didn't tell him the truth that she'd actually cooked and baked it all herself, mentally shrugging when she couldn't come up with a good explanation.

"Well it looks fabulous." Mac studied his face carefully, realizing with a flash of joy that he was sincere.

* * *

"Mac…this pie…"

"You don't like it?" She bit her lip in disappointment.

" _No,_ Mac. It's…I mean I didn't know pumpkin pie could taste this good. Where did you say you got it?" He took another bite and closed his eyes in obvious enjoyment.

 _Tell him you made it!_ her inner voice admonished her, but she couldn't do it. "Um, a grocery store in Georgetown. So, you like it?" She smiled tentatively at him.

"Like it, Mac? Lord, I think I could eat this everyday and I don't even have a sweet tooth!"

Mac turned her head to hide her blush.

Harm's hand closed over hers. "Aren't you going to have any?"

Mac shook her head. "No, I…um, how was everything else?" she asked, trying to change the subject. Harm's moan of pleasure made her laugh.

"Damn, Mac…I'm going to have to double my runs this week to work this off!" He turned his smiling eyes to her, and his expression became serious. "Mac, thank you for this. I haven't done much for Christmas ever since Dad was shot down. Ya know, I even made mom make macaroni and cheese for me for Christmas dinner until she married Frank. From a _box_ no less." He shuddered at the thought of eating the processed food treat that had graced the table at many a MacKenzie meal. Mac was surprised when he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Sarah."

Their eyes met as he leaned away, and for long seconds they held each other's gaze. Harm's mouth opened to say something, but the shrill beep of his pager interrupted the moment. Harm looked down at the display. "Damn, I have to take this." He stood up, glancing down at the remains of their meal.

"Go, Harm…I'll take care of this—I'll pop in before I go and say goodbye, okay?"

Harm nodded. "Thanks again, Mac. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." She watched Harm leave, admiring his form in his service dress blues. She'd never tell him, but she loved him best in the winter uniform. She turned to pick up their plates…

And suddenly realized what she'd just thought…

She _loved_ him? She tried to brush that thought aside, but it kept coming back, and for the first time, she admitted the truth of it to herself. She _did_ love him. Probably had since the night they'd spent together on the run from those psycho poachers.

 _Oh, damn._ Well, it wouldn't do any good to dwell on it. He had Annie _(Neurotic Annie!)_ and she had Dalton. She shook herself to clear her mind, but she couldn't help the feeling of warmth that went through her as she picked up the rest of his dishes. They'd talked all through dinner and he'd opened up to her about his dubious relationship with Christmas ever since his father was shot down on Christmas Eve. She saw the sad, scared little boy he'd been, and it tore at her heart. She, too, had a somewhat shaky relationship with Christmas, but she didn't want him to know how absolutely dysfunctional her family had been. He knew some details of course, but that was enough…and it was enough just to sit and sympathize with him while he told her more about his dad and the years after the man had gone MIA.

Truthfully, Mac hadn't enjoyed a Christmas this much in years. The conversation, the company…it was enough to make her wish she'd done more, well, _Christmasy_ things this year, like decorating her apartment…it was too late now…but maybe next year…

The last thing Mac gathered up was her pie. She looked down at the pretty confection, inhaled its spicy aroma, and wondered for the first time in years what it _really_ tasted like. On impulse she picked up Harm's fork and scooped up a bite. She slid it into her mouth…

And spit it out before it had even hit her tongue. She wasn't quite ready for _that._

* * *

Wow…I think I actually got a warm fuzzy from watching that. Those two were actually _cute_ together.

Oh, lord, I think I'm gonna be sick…that really was way to sweet. But then I wonder what happened…shouldn't those two have ridden off into the sunset and had a couple of fat babies before I even showed up on the scene?

"A good question, Loren. One that doesn't have an easy answer, I'm afraid," Joseph answers. "But time is short, so rather than discuss, let's watch, shall we? Christmas 1998…"

I start to turn back to the parting clouds, but I'm momentarily distracted by the sight of my brother playing catch with a little girl. _They play catch in Heaven?_ I wonder briefly who she is, but then Joseph is drawing my attention back to the scene below…

* * *

 _Christmas Eve 1998_

 _JAG Headquarters_

"All's well that ends well, right, ma'am," Lt Bud Roberts commented as they all finish gathering up their things. The roads had finally cleared enough to go home, Chloe had found her real father, and the admiral had gotten off to Italy to see Francesca. Everything had ended well, really.

 _So why do I feel so awful,_ Mac asked herself as she helped Chloe into her coat. A glance over at her partner answered that question.

Earlier today, she'd asked him what his plans were, hoping that perhaps he'd come by for Christmas dinner. She had most of it prepared already, and she was hoping that perhaps Harm would come over to her place this time. She had decorated this year and she'd been pretty proud of the results.

It hadn't been the easiest few months; the husband she'd never divorced had shown up and she'd ended up killing him. The ensuing court battle was a humiliation in itself; everyone now knew that she'd still been legally married when she'd come to JAG and had had an affair with her not-quite-former CO, John Farrow while in Okinawa. She'd been acquitted for the murder, but still faced an Admiral's Mast in the new year. That was all bad enough, but having Harm know what she had done all those years ago was worse.

She was an adulteress.

She was guilty of fraternization with a superior officer.

She had done things that made her wonder if her father's cruel words to her weren't in fact more accurate than she'd wanted to believe.

Yes, she had tried to talk to Harm about the situation before it had all gotten out of hand, but he'd been obviously involved with Bobbie Latham at the time.

The warm feelings for Harm that she'd acknowledged last Christmas had remained her secret, despite Harm's relationship with _(Neurotic!)_ Annie ending along with her relationship with Dalton. He'd been so good to her after Dalton had died, after she'd fallen off the wagon, after they'd captured her stalker…but clearly he only felt friendship for her.

 _Even after you went to Russia for him. After you defended him when he'd been accused of murder before that._

That's all he'd ever feel for her. It was all she could really hope for, given who she was.

Mic Brumby, the exchange officer from Australia, seemed to be showing interest, and Harm did seem to be annoyed by that…but she was sure that was because he was still a bit miffed that the Aussie has tried to pin a murder on her.

While Mac would have welcomed a more romantic interest from Harm, it was in the interest of friendship that she had intended to invite him for Christmas. Instead of an invitation warmly given and warmly accepted, she'd had to listen to him avoid her questions while he tried to find some bimbo to spend the holiday with.

 _Bimbo…maybe that's not fair,_ she thought to herself. _Annie wasn't a bimbo…she was just batsh—, uh…neurotic._

Maybe all those women held PhD's from some West Coast Ivy League school…

Mac eventually would have asked him anyway, given he seemed to be striking out, but then Chloe had shown up followed closely by one Jordan Parker. Arrested for a DUI, she'd been brought here and Harm had eagerly offered to take her case.

As grateful as Mac was that Jordan had talked Chloe down, the woman rubbed her the wrong way. Unfortunately, judging how Harm was now fawning all over her, Jordan rubbed Harm the _right_ way. Or at least she was about to…

With a sigh, Mac turned back to Chloe. At least her stepfather had agreed to let Chloe stay with her for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. She wouldn't have to be alone once again…with a last glance at her partner and his new… _whatever…_ she and Chloe left the bullpen.

Chloe chatted happily about her new father all the way down to the first floor, and while Mac still smiled down at her, truly happy for her little sister, the urge to cry was nearly overwhelming.

* * *

"What an absolute moron!" I shout down from the heavens. I can't believe how the boy scout treated Sar— _Mac._ "Can't you see she loves you?!"

Oh my go— _oh my,_ I can't believe I just said that. What the hell do I care if she loves him?

 _But still…_

That man really was a moron. What did he see in that vapid bitch? Come on…a doctor and she doesn't know that cough syrup has alcohol in it? I'd never let her off from that DUI charge. The bitch was drunk…I wonder if angels can haunt people…

" _No,_ Loren. You can't haunt people." Joseph is right there again, looking stern, but I'm sure I see a hint of amusement in his deep brown eyes. I decide to press it a bit more.

"Oh, come on…can't I make a little side trip after I save Sarah? Rattle some chains, scare the devil out of her?" I'm sure there's a fiendish glint in my eyes.

Joseph taps me on the head with the tip of his wing. "My dear child…" he starts to say, but then he just shakes his head.

"What?" I ask innocently.

"While I'm sure Mac wouldn't mind if you did, you're a bit late. Our poor Jordan was killed a couple of years ago by a very sick woman. She's up here somewhere, working on earning her wings, just like you."

"Well, I hope I don't run into her," I say. _And I hope she doesn't beat me to my wings…_

"It's not a competition, my dear child," Joseph admonishes.

 _We'll see,_ I think, chuckling when Joseph snorts in exasperation. I'm about to say something else when a shriek of childish laughter splits the air. I look over to see Steven carrying a little girl on his shoulders. I smile at the sight, but as they disappear through a cloud, I'm hit by a feeling of astounding despair.

"Oh, my dear Loren, come here…"

And suddenly I'm surrounded by Joseph's warm wings, crying into his shoulder.

* * *

 _End Chapter 8_


	9. Why Don't You Kiss Her

_A/N: Another update! Thank you so much for all the thoughtful reviews. They are much appreciated. Now…I should put the kids to bed and work on my clinic charts. I'd rather put the kids to bed and read fan fic though…_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 9: Why Don't You Kiss Her**

"Are you feeling better, Loren?"

I look up to see Joseph standing over me. After I'd gotten myself back under control, I told Joseph I just wanted a moment alone and he'd kindly led me to a bench. I've been sitting here for several minutes now and I'm still not certain what happened. I'd heard that little girl giggling…and I just lost it. I suppose it has something to do with… _her,_ but I really don't want to go there right now.

"Yeah…I'm fine," I say, and he nods in understanding.

"Are you ready to see more of Mac's story, my child?" I surprise myself by simply nodding and he holds out his arm for me. I take it and we make our way over to the edge.

"So, when are we?" I ask, watching with actual curiosity, which rather irritates me. No, it actually doesn't irritate me, and _that_ irritates me. Lord, this is all so confusing.

Joseph gives me a sympathetic glance. "It often is, my dear Loren." He motions to the scene below. "Christmas 2001. Mac and her friend Harm have both gone through many trials this past year, but things seem to be settling down…

* * *

 _Christmas Day 2001_

 _Mac's Apartment_

 _Georgetown_

 _Awkward moment Number 310…_

Mac sat up in bed and stretched, smiling to herself as she remembered the feel of her partner's lips on hers.

It hadn't been a sensual kiss by any means, but it had been soft and sweet, and she had loved the taste of him.

She'd always loved the taste of him.

He'd first kissed her on the docs of Norfolk, a bittersweet kiss as she knew he'd been kissing his old flame, Diane.

And then there had been the kiss on the admiral's porch…

She'd told herself she was just kissing him goodbye, that it was just going to a friendly peck on the lips, but then he'd followed her lips with his own, pulled her close, and opened his mouth to her. Their tongues met and their breaths mingled, and as her legs grew weaker, she felt something growing hard against her stomach.

She'd stepped away from him, her lips still tingling as she fought the urge to look down and see what had been pressed against her.

The rest of the night, no matter how hard she tried to stay away from him, no matter how hard they tried to stay from from each other, their bodies would gravitate toward one another. First it was the brush of their hands as they stood together just after the kiss, then the there was the moment they'd both reached for the same piece of cake, and finally their awkward dance as he'd walked out of the bathroom just as she'd planned to walk in. She'd catch him staring at her, and then he'd catch her doing the same. It was…unsettling…and exhilarating.

Mac wished things had gone differently after that; actually, she wished things had gone differently from before Harm had left to fly.

She would have been more supportive of his decision.

She would have communicated with him more, kept him up to date with JAG, told him about her promotion.

She would have told him what she really wanted in Sidney.

She wouldn't have taken Mic's ring.

Her list of regrets was long, but maybe now—now that they had agreed to start over, things would start to move in the right direction.

Eventually, Mac got herself out of bed, peaked in on Jen, who now slept in her guest room, and started the coffee. She was just pouring herself a cup when she heard a knock at her door.

"Harm!" she cried as she opened the door, happy to see the focus of all her thoughts of the morning. She was surprised when he pulled her into an embrace. "What's all this about?" she asked as he drew away from her.

He flashed his flyboy smile. "Just wanted to say 'Merry Christmas,' Sarah."

 _Sarah?_

"And I have a big surprise…"

 _Surprise? Tickets to Bora Bora? Fiji? An engagement ring? Slow down, MacKenzie…_

"Hello, Colonel!"

Mac looked over Harm's shoulder, more than surprised when she saw who had just spoken. "Sergei!"

Harm stepped aside and Mac moved forward to enfold Sergei in a warm embrace. "How?" She directed the question toward her partner.

"Webb."

 _Of course._ "Well, I don't know how he did it, but I'm so happy for you!" She motioned Sergei inside, then put her hand on Harm's arm. "For you too, Flyboy." She smiled up at him and he grinned back down at her, and she couldn't help throwing her arms around him. He held her to him tightly and she felt his warm breath as he whispered into her ear.

"It's going to be a _great_ year, Mac."

* * *

"What did I just watch?" I turn away from the ever-moving clouds and find I'm standing alone at the edge of Heaven.

 _Yes, what did I just watch?_ I ask myself. I also find myself thinking about the young man the Boy Scout brought to Sarah's… _Mac's_ apartment. He looks familiar…

 _Oh my god…_

Sergei.

Sergei Zhukov…one of the only men I'd ever been with because _I_ wanted to. Oh, yes, he was young. Virginal, in fact. But he was sweet…gentle. The few times we were together, we'd actually spent time talking. He'd been honestly interested in what I had to say, and I never tried to make myself out to be more than what I was. It had been very… _refreshing._ I was sad to see him go back to Russia, but of course, nothing could have ever come of any of it.

But _still…_

Suddenly I'm hit by another memory…from the same evening Sergei was brought to America.

The air had had a definite chill; it was cold even for December that night. I'd stepped out of the church, still angry that my 'boyfriend' had sent the same bracelet out to several women. The Boy Scout and his groupies were all standing around, talking, and as usual, I'd found myself alone. I'd glanced around, and my eyes stopped on a certain naval commander who had a certain posting to the SECNAV's office…

" _Commander Lindsey? I'm Loren Singer."_

" _Oh, very nice to meet you."_

" _It must be fascinating working for the SECNAV."_

And for just a moment, I feel like I'm drowning again.

* * *

"Loren. _Loren!_ Are you okay?"

A gold tipped wing wraps around my shoulders and the visions of dirty, icy water closing over me disappear, leaving me staring up at my brother.

I shrug him off. "I'm fine, Steven."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't, Steven." Steven and I stand in in silence and I figure he's going to let the matter drop, but then he opens his mouth again.

"So, Commander Ted Lindsey…"

"What about him?" I snap, growing more irritated by the second.

"He's the one who…"

"I know damn well who he is." _But do I?_

 _Oh, God…I do…_

"Steven…he…he…" I feel those stringy arms slide under me and lift me up. I'm dazed, barely conscious, and my head hurts, and suddenly I'm falling…falling…

The freezing water takes my breath away but still has the unfortunate effect of waking me from my stupor. I know I'm drowning; I know I don't have the strength to fight my way out of this, and it doesn't take long before I'm breathing in the fast-moving water.

And just like that, I die.

* * *

Can angels throw up? Because I want to…

"No, not as such, sweetie." Steven is still beside me, and for the first time in my life and death, I'm glad I have my big brother.

"Why, Steven?" I'm aware that I'm still gasping for breath; I can't get the feeling of drowning out of my mind.

"I don't know, Loren." He looks like he wants to say more, but then he and I notice Joseph approaching. He gives me a squeeze, this time with his arm. He leans down to whisper in my ear and at that moment I know I really do have the best big brother in the whole world...

"Don't tell Joseph," he murmurs. "But the last time I was on earth, I took a little detour to Leavenworth. And let assure you…we can do a little haunting." He raises his eyebrows and then winks at me, turning away to give me and Joseph privacy.

I must say, I'm shocked. Floored, actually. This brother whom I never knew actually took a moment to make my killer pay. _Oh my…_

Steven is a few feet away from me now and I see that Joseph is talking to Uriel, another archangel, so I ask the question that has really been gnawing at me.

"Steven?" He turns around.

"Yeah, sis?"

"Who was that little girl with you?"

Steven gives me a soft smile. "Oh, that was just Emma."

He's turned around and is halfway down the walk before I can ask anything else.

* * *

"Well, my dear Loren, we have one more year to see before we will be all caught up with Mac's life," Joseph says as he leads me back to the edge of Heaven. He pauses before parting the clouds, gazing at me intently until I start to squirm.

"Loren, my dear child…we do have a few moments before we have to start. Would you like to talk about it?"

"That's what Steven asked me," I answer quietly as Joseph nods. I stare off into the swirling clouds for a moment. "I guess I wish I knew why." Joseph eyes me with knowing sympathy.

"Yes…people have been given free will, but not everyone uses that gift in joy and love."

 _Quite the understatement, Joseph…_

"Commander Lindsey—" Joseph goes on.

"I wasn't talking about him, Joseph." He raises an eyebrow at me, and I wonder for a moment if I've finally managed to block a thought, but his smile says otherwise.

"I know, Loren. It's one of the harder things about being human, I would guess…trying to understand others when one doesn't understand themselves." Joseph nods at the clouds that are parting beneath us. "But sometimes, as we learn about someone else's whys, we do figure out some of our own, am I right, Loren?"

And with a gentle brush of his wings, he leaves me to another Christmas. My last Christmas.

* * *

 _Christmas Eve 2002_

 _Roberts Residence_

 _Reston, VA_

She'd been so worried about him.

She'd known something was wrong; call it psychic intuition, call it paranoia…but she knew. She'd nearly cried in relief when he'd walked into the dining room, immediately concerned again when she'd noticed his wings gone. When she found he'd given them to a young pilot who was missing his winging ceremony to stand watch over a suicidal friend, she actually did cry. Harm had cupped her cheek and brushed her tears away with his thumb…

* * *

" _Mac, honey…don't cry…I'll get another set…"_

" _I know, Harm…it isn't that…but what you did for him, for Lt. Clarence…"_

" _Well, Admiral Boone was there too…"_

" _You know what I mean, Harm." She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, then took his hand. "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"_

" _I just did."_

" _Before that."_

 _Harm's eyes darted around nervously. "Nothing happened, Mac."_

 _But Mac was insistent. "Try again, Flyboy." She watched his shoulders slump a little and then he reached for her free hand._

" _We, uh, hit a weather balloon…lost control for a bit."_

 _Mac's heart started to pound in her chest, and she found she was more frightened now than she had been before she'd found out what had happened._

" _And?" she said with trepidation._

" _And, nothing. I got her under control again, and here I am." She could tell he knew she knew that wasn't the whole of it. She stared at him pointedly._

 _Harm rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mac…at first we thought we'd hit the C-130."_

 _Mac gasped. "Oh, god, Harm…but you didn't."_

" _I know…but, um, Mac…I was scared…"_

What? The great Harmon Rabb, Jr admitting he was scared?

 _That actually scared Mac more than anything. She pulled her hands from his and wrapped her arms around him, feeling him follow suit, feeling him press a kiss to her hair, feeling him rest his cheek against her hair._

* * *

"You ready to go, Mac?" They were all preparing to leave for the Christmas Eve service at the chapel. _"Mac?_ What is it?"

Harm's voice pulled her from her reverie and she realized he was standing next to her, holding her coat. "Oh, sorry, Harm. I was just thinking about Lt. Clarence again."

"That all?" A cool draft from the opening front door caused her to shiver and Harm quickly helped her into her winter trench coat.

"Mostly…I was also thinking of you…"

"Oh, really?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. She was glad he could joke again; she knew he'd been terribly shaken by today's flight. She lightly smacked his arm and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, _really,_ Harm. You gave the lieutenant some hope."

"Well, I think he had that already…you know, Mac…these new pilots…they're getting younger and younger. I mean…this guy looked like he was barely old enough to fly a remote control toy."

"And you were never that young?" She watched Harm's eyes darken a bit.

"No, I don't think I was…I don't think either of us was." The words were true, and Mac squeezed his arm.

"So," Mac said, looking to change the subject a bit. "He's going to be a Blue Angel?" Harm nodded. The front door opened and shut; whoever had just left had pulled it closed a little harder than needed, and the bells hanging with the mistletoe jingled. She was surprised to see Harm grinning and she looked up at him in question.

"The bells, Mac." He motioned upward. "Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings." Mac's face lit up in a grin as well.

"That's right!" The two chuckled a bit and made their way to the door. Harm pointed upward again, his eyebrows raised in question this time. "Awkward moment number 311?" he whispered.

Mac shook her head. "Not awkward."

And then he kissed her.

* * *

Well, that was sweet…

 _So, what the hell happened?_

Sarah seemed to have gotten everything. Her, what did she call him? Her flyboy was obviously in love with her. She had her boy scout. She had her career. She had friends…she had everything I no longer had…everything I _never_ had.

"Actually, never's part of the problem…" I actually feel myself jump when I hear Joseph's voice beside me again.

"Never?"

Joseph actually looks apprehensive. "You see, Harm and Mac…" He sighs. "Actually, it would be easier to show you…but I warn you, Loren. It will be… _difficult."_

 _Like any of the rest of this has been easy?_

"I know, my dear Loren…but what Mac and her friend go through now is, well, it is rather tragic. Both of them are in pain because of it, but Mac has fared worse. She feels alone. She still faces terrible memories of a mission that didn't go as planned…she never got help for that…and the close friendship she shared with Harm even a year ago is a distant memory to her…I'm sorry, Loren. I'm sorry you have to see this. But you need to see it to help her."

I nod, a sick feeling going through me. What could possibly be so horrible?

The clouds part, and I find out.

 _End Chapter 9_


	10. I Know What I'm Gonna Do

_A/N: So here's chapter 10. Special shout out to Radiorox for her assistance on this one!_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 10: I Know What I'm Gonna Do**

I'm still looking down at the clouds in shock when Joseph returns to my side. What I just saw…what she went through…I feel rather sick.

And _him…_

I could wring his neck. How could he have been so cruel? I would have thought that he, more than anyone, would have known how deeply his words would cut her.

That whole Paraguay thing…I can still hear that Webb guy's screams. I can only imagine what it was like for Sarah… _Mac…_ and I'm not surprised she reacted the way she did afterwards. I'd liken it to a wounded animal. They strike out even when someone is trying to help, and she'd certainly been wounded…by so many things. I do understand that feeling—it's not something I consciously thought about when I was alive, but seeing Sarah's life play out before me…I get it.

I used to think I had very few friends because other people couldn't handle being around someone so ambitious. I'd tell myself they were intimidated by me, that they were just jealous of what I had accomplished. For some, that could have been true, I guess…but I can see now that when anybody tried to be my friend, tried to help, especially when they were offering constructive criticism, I always bit back. I snapped and snarled. I never trusted their good intentions.

It's a shame, really. My life could have been so much fuller. I could have been Sarah MacKenzie's friend…I could have reached her before she got to this point.

I would probably still be alive.

God, this is depressing. And I'm not meaning to swear…it really is depressing and I'm sorry I took my gift of free will to do what I did. I'm sorry for selfish reasons no doubt, but I'm also just truly sorry.

"You are forgiven, Loren," Joseph says beside me. "He forgives you and He has always loved you, and nothing would make Him happier than if you would forgive yourself."

Of course, Joseph's words make me cry which in turn makes me surly. "Well…I hope he asked for a lot more than that for Christmas then," I snap, once again the wounded animal.

Old habits die hard.

"Oh, Loren," Joseph says indulgently.

I roll my eyes, at least I think I do, but my tears have dried.

"Do you have any thoughts about what you've just seen, my dear Loren?" Joseph asks, bringing us back to the matter at hand.

"Yeah, plenty."

"You are wondering why he is acting the way he is."

"For starters…"

"He's been hurt."

"So that gives him the right to be cruel?" I ask incredulously. How can Joseph defend him?

"I am not defending him, child. But humans often react that way to pain." He raises his eyebrow at me. "Like wounded animals."

"Then maybe we need to just shoot him and put him out of his misery," I mutter, and Joseph actually laughs.

"No, my dear…but he does need help too…and he's getting it, in the form of young Mattie."

 _Ah, yes…the teenager…_ "Are you saying she's one of us?"

Joseph chuckles. "No, she's quite human…but she is giving Harm a purpose again."

"Well, good for him," I snort.

"Indeed, Loren…but if Mac isn't saved, Mattie won't be enough…he won't recover."

 _Poor baby,_ I think to myself. "Why can't I just tell her that? That her precious Flyboy will be ruined if she offs herself?"

Joseph frowns. "She won't believe it, I'm afraid."

"But, why—" No, I know why. "She's going to have to want to live for herself, isn't she?"

"Precisely, Loren. She needs to believe that the people she loves are better for knowing her. Right now, all she can see is the guilt over causing her friend pain. She sees herself as a burden and she thinks she's hurt everyone around her. She no longer sees the good." Joseph stares hard into me. "And that is where you come in, my dear child."

"Well, good for me," I murmur. _How in the world am I going to fix this? Me of all people?_

"Well, dear Loren…remember, you aren't just people now…you're an angel."

" _That's_ comforting," I reply sarcastically. "So, when do I go?"

"Quite soon, Loren. If you will excuse me for a moment, I will fetch Clarence. He will be accompanying you."

"He will?" That would be nice…I guess…there'd at least be someone around to show me the ropes…

"No, Loren, Clarence will only be your escort to Earth. While we will be available for consultation, you must do this on your own." Joseph turns away and takes a step, but I call him back.

"Joseph?" I'd be blushing now were I in my old body. "What if I fail?"

He gives me a beatific smile. "Have faith, dear Loren." And then he walks away.

 _Faith…_

God help me.

It comes from far away, but I can still feel the rumble of the voice. _His_ voice.

" _I will."_

* * *

Since I have a few moments to myself, my mind drifts to Sarah's last few years. Yes, I called her Sarah; I can't seem to get on board with the name 'Mac'. She's just going to have to deal with it.

The way I see it, her Boy Scout let her down. First, he left to go play Peter Pan. I'd heard they called him 'Pappy' out on the carrier because he was so old for a pilot. That nickname always made me snicker. Then she had to endure that oaf, Mic Brumby.

I was there the night of Sarah's engagement party. I remember how she and the Boy Scout spent the entire time out on the porch yakking it up. Meanwhile, her fiancé and his girlfriend just moped inside the house. If that had been me, I would have marched right out there and let them have it. That was also the night I saw Sarah and Rabb kiss and didn't tell anyone. Oh, I wanted to, but for once I had decided to be kind. Then again, maybe I should have said something…perhaps then they would have had to truly face their feelings.

I would have thought they'd have gotten together after that oaf left for the land down under again, but, oh no…they were taking it SLOW.

Here's the part, however, that makes me uncomfortable…

The Boy Scout was put in the brig for my murder. He'd acted guilty as sin so what else could he have expected? Maybe if the man had taken my word for it that his brother wasn't the father of my…of _her…_

I know he hurt Sarah deeply when he kept all of that his dirty little secret. Then Paraguay happened…and that culminated into the fight I just witnessed.

It seems the Boy Scout wants guardianship of a teenaged girl. Putting aside for a moment the ridiculousness of a single male seeking custody of a female child that he isn't related to, I think it was pretty bold of him to march into her apartment and ask her to vouch for him as a, what was it, a family man? He'd ignored her for months after Paraguay, then had been snide and cruel, making comments about her alcoholism in front of the entire bullpen.

How dare he?

Don't think I don't see the irony here…I'm berating him for something I secretly would have relished had I been there to see it. But…how could he act like this to his best friend?

I know how she behaved in Paraguay; I saw it. But who wouldn't act that way after what she'd gone through? Didn't that—that _idiot_ understand that? And this whole Webb thing…Sarah didn't want Webb, and frankly I'm surprised the spook isn't up here now; he looked half dead when she gave him that pity kiss.

But of course, Superman jumped to conclusions, and now here we are. Mac isn't with that Webb character any more than I am and yet Rabb won't give it up. I know she told him they'd 'never' work out…but in my opinion, the fool gave up too soon. Then, as usual, he acted like a jealous twit. I mean, we _all_ saw he acted when Sarah was with Brumby…and now he's acting a thousand times worse.

I really could just smack him.

 _Especially_ after what he'd just said. He and Sarah argued about their relationship, she didn't just jump and agree to vouch for him, and then he threw out those nasty words…

 _Forget about it. It's too important for you to screw up._

* * *

I'm just contemplating my upcoming task when Joseph and Clarence approach me. "Are you ready?" Joseph asks me.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Loren, we always—"

"I know, I know…we always have a choice. Yeah, yeah, I'm ready. Let's get this show on the road."

Joseph nods at Clarence who takes me by the arm. We've only taken a couple of steps before someone calls my name.

It's Joe.

I think about just walking away, but I suppose, since Sarah _is_ his daughter…

"Yes?"

"Thank you. Thank you for saving her."

I can't resist a true Loren retort. "Well, she isn't saved yet."

He pales slightly, something I didn't know an angel could do. "Well…thank you for trying…even though…just…thank you, Loren."

I want to fire off another scathing response, but that will serve no one. "I'm not doing it for you," I say, softly. "But you're welcome." We nod at each other, and then Clarence leads me to the edge of Heaven.

"So, Clarence…what do we do now?" A smile lights up his weathered face.

"Well, Loren…we jump."

And then we do.

* * *

It takes longer than I would have thought to fall back to Earth. There's time to think, for better or worse, and I find myself echoing the Boy Scout's words to Sarah, only this time, I'm directing them to myself…

 _It's too important for you to screw up._

* * *

 _It's too important for you to screw up…_

Harm's words echoed in her festively decorated apartment, haunting her as she slowly made her way back to her couch. The tears that fell so easy of late were angrily brushed aside, but it was of no use. More and more fell until finally all Mac could do was sob into her hands. He was right, she knew…she did screw everything up. From getting addicted to alcohol as a fifteen-year-old to getting married and neglecting to get divorced, to her ill-fated engagement to Mic to finally telling Harm 'never,' she'd ruined everything she'd ever touched.

Her once solid friendship with Harm was in tatters, her relationships with her coworkers strained, and her work, while still exemplary, lacked the joy and determination she'd brought to it for the last eight years here.

About the only thing she'd done that was beautiful in the last year was decking out her apartment in the usual holiday finery. She'd had no idea why she'd even bothered; Harm wouldn't be there to razz her about spending money on a murdered tree, Chloe wasn't visiting this year, and she certainly wouldn't be entertaining anyone. There was a part of her that had hoped that if she did what she normally had been doing since her second year at JAG, things would go back to what they'd been before Paraguay, before the Singer mess, before she'd royally screwed up her life. There had been no such luck. Everything now was as dismal as it had been since Harm had spent his month in the brig, and there was no way to make it better now.

 _Except for maybe one thing…_

Mac swiped at her tears again and stepped over to her refrigerator. She pulled open its freezer door and took out the bottle she'd had in there ever since Harm had broadcast her addiction all over the bullpen. She'd yet to take a drink, knowing deep down she was saving it for something else.

She caressed the label with a fingertip and then put it back in its place. It was the good stuff; she thought she'd earned it and for what she had planned, she needed it to be smooth. Grey Goose fit that bill.

Throughout the years of drinking, she'd only had Grey Goose vodka a couple of times. It was so terribly easy to get drunk on it; it went down so smoothly and easily that before you knew it, the bottle would be gone, and you'd be three sheets to the wind. Absolut was another favorite brand, one that she'd indulged in more often. It had a stronger bite than the Grey Goose yet still went down easily. Unfortunately for a young Sarah MacKenzie, she rarely could afford the higher priced bottles, thus she found herself drinking mostly bottom shelf varieties. After all, most of the time she wasn't drinking for the taste; she just wanted to get drunk.

Mac stepped over to the narrow cupboard opposite the fridge. Her hand shook a bit as she opened it and reached in. She pulled out a nearly full bottle of sleeping medication, then set it back in there with three similarly filled bottles. Next to those sat a smaller bottle of Valium that she'd gotten from a rather harried doctor who preferred to medicate her rather than find out why she had such panic attacks and nightmares. She wouldn't have filled it, but after her seventeenth phone call to Harm went unanswered, she'd needed _something._ She'd taken one or two of them, then, fearing she would become addicted to those too, decided she'd best leave them be. She should have just thrown them away or flushed them, wondering why she didn't even as she set them up high in the cupboard. She just knew that they would come in handy someday. It was the same with the sleeping pills; she took one of them, didn't like how she felt in the morning, then put the bottle into the cupboard next to the Valium. Despite not using the meds, she continued to fill them when she was due, some intangible voice telling her she'd need them someday.

Someday had come. She couldn't live like this anymore, so she had decided not to live at all. All that was left for her to do was write the note, and then she could be free. More importantly, everyone else would be free of her, Harm especially. She had no doubt that while he may be sad that she was gone, it would still be a relief for him. The admiral too…he hadn't planned to save her in Paraguay, so it shouldn't be a big deal for him if she left for good. The JAG office would finally have that cloud of resentment and sadness lifted from it. It would be Sarah MacKenzie's gift to all of them for allowing her serve there for the last eight years.

Mac put the pills back into the cupboard for safekeeping and went to her desk. She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and grabbed her favorite pen, then sat down and contemplated the bright white emptiness of the innocent 8 ½ x 11-inch paper.

 _Emptiness…_ that was a good word. She _was_ empty inside. Her life was empty, and she was tired of trying to fill it.

She wasn't sure how she should start this note, and as she nibbled on the cap of her pen, her thoughts turned back to Harm. She would have agreed to help him if he hadn't stormed out, she was sure. He just didn't give her a chance, not that she deserved it.

Eventually she brushed another tear aside and set pen to paper…and then a thought formed in her mind.

She could still help Harm. She could go to that courtroom on Christmas Eve and tell the judge that there would be no one better for the job. It would be her final act and perhaps it would make up for all the horrible things she'd ever said and done to him…well, nothing would ever c _ompletely_ make up for her actions…but maybe he'd remember her more fondly than he would if she just ended it all right at this moment. Mac set the pen back down onto the paper and instead of writing her suicide note, she thought of what she'd say so that Harm would be allowed to care for this girl who apparently had no one.

* * *

Mac looked over at the young girl next to her. Her name was Mattie, and Mac was taken with her. She thought wistfully of watching her become a young woman and successful adult, but promptly dismissed those musings. Some things were just never meant to be.

But Harm _was_ meant to be a father and it meant the world to Mac that she could give him that now. Sure, it wasn't in the way she'd hoped for over four and a half years ago, but it was still a gift.

Mac parked the car near the Wall where she knew Harm would be at this time. A light snow had started to fall and Mac stopped for a moment and just enjoyed the silence of the night. For so long, her mind had been cacophony of images and sounds from her mission to Paraguay, the ruins of her relationship with Harm, and even images from her childhood and teen years. If there was one thing Mac longed for, it was silence. She'd soon have that though, just as soon as she completed this last mission.

"Can you see him?" asked Mattie, scanning the thin crowds by the Wall. Then her entire face lit up. "There he is, Mac! Can I go to him?" Mac smiled at her and nodded, following behind as the now joyous girl walked to her new guardian. Mac teared up as she watched Harm's arms go around Mattie, and for a moment, as he watched her while she told him how she'd convinced Mattie's father to go along with this arrangement, Mac thought she saw some of the old tenderness in his eyes. It was probably just a trick of the lighting here, though, and she took her leave. She'd lied and said she had a date with Webb, knowing Harm would easily let her go with that excuse, and then walked away, telling Harm a more fervent goodbye in her head. He'd be okay, though. He had friends, family that loved him, and now he had a daughter to look after. Sure, this guardianship was likely temporary, but Mac knew Harm would always look after Mattie and be in her life.

He was going to be a wonderful father, and now he'd be completely free to find someone to give him more children. His own biological children. Sometimes she wondered if he'd been holding himself back so he could fulfill an ill-considered promise made in the heat of an emotional moment. Now he could completely let go, and Mac took comfort in that.

It was a cold drive back to her apartment and Mac felt a strange excitement overtake her. An odd way to feel about her impending suicide, she thought, but then, maybe others had felt that way once they'd made peace with their decision.

Mac parked her Corvette for the last time and looked up at her residence for the previous eight years. It had been a home for a while, but with everything now the way it was, the once cozy feeling she used to have had turned into something cold.

Once inside, Mac carefully set her keys next to the documents she'd gathered to make it easier for everyone—her will was there along with bank and insurance information. Mac was forever the prepared marine, even during a task such as this. She slipped off her coat and hung it up in the closet, wanting to keep everything neat and tidy. She retrieved her short note from the desk and set it next to her keys and papers and then, with a profound sense of peace, she went into the kitchen. She set out her pills, then pulled her bottle of Grey Goose vodka from the freezer and placed it by the medication. She watched as the glass became covered in an icy sheen, knowing that inside the bottle, the liquid remained unfrozen.

Mac retrieved a glass from another cupboard and set it next to the bottle of Vodka. Chilling her drink of choice made, in this case, the already smooth liquor even more palatable; even the cheaper varieties became less harsh in taste and odor when kept in the freezer. She opened the bottle and poured it into her glass, mesmerized by the now syrup-like consistency of the ice-cold beverage. One sip, she knew, would coat her tongue and mouth, and the remainder of the liquid would go down like silk. She raised the glass to her lips…

 _"Good god, Sarah, is this all you wrote?"_

Startled, Sarah felt the glass slip from her hands. Dimly, she heard it shatter around her and felt the cold liquid splash over her feet. That voice…she knew it…

Mac whipped around and there stood someone she'd never thought she'd see again. The woman before her was still dressed as a navy lieutenant, her hair was still in the same severe bun, and she still had the same smirk on her face.

There was just one problem…this woman was dead. Had been for almost a year…

"What…how…you…but you're…you're dead…"

The woman's smirk turned into a self-satisfied grin. "Still am, Sarah."

The world tilted around her, but Mac still drew herself up to her full height and used her most imperious tone to address this impertinent ghost before her.

"That's Lt. Colonel MacKenzie to you."

And then she fainted.

* * *

 _End Chapter 10_


	11. The Kind of Angel I'd Get

_A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates…real life has intruded. I wanted to get this done by Christmas, but I'm not going to make it. Then again…there are supposedly twelve days of Christmas…so if I get this done by January 6_ _th_ _, that counts, right? Thanks as always for the reviews. They mean a lot. Not sure about this chapter…my muse sort of went MIA during it. Hopefully she'll behave after this!_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 11: The Kind of Angel I'd Get**

"Come on, Sarah. Wake up. We haven't got all night," I say uselessly to the unconscious woman before me. After she'd fainted, I dragged her out of the kitchen, a trail of blood following us from there to her couch. She'd managed to cut her hand on a shard of glass when she landed, and now she lay slumped over on her sofa, her newly bandaged hand in her lap. It's nice to know I've still got it—no one's ever made a prettier dressing than yours truly, but I suppose she'll still be miffed about the blood stains. Hey, it isn't my fault she's a bleeder.

I watch her for another minute, then look about her apartment. Really, for a JAG lawyer on a Lt. Colonel's salary, this place is pretty posh. It's very spacious and well-decorated. She has a huge Christmas tree in one corner _(how frivolous)_ decked out with hundreds of twinkling lights and ornaments. Presents lay underneath of it, each carefully labeled with the recipient's name. _How nice of her to leave them all presents to make up for killing herself…_

Finally, Sleeping Beauty starts to stir, and I watch her expectantly. I still don't know how I'm going to pull this off; I tried to ask Clarence on the way down here how he'd earned his wings, but he got all coy. Apparently bewinged angels aren't really allowed to give out the secrets of their success.

A moan escapes Sarah's lips a moment later and her eyes start to flutter open. I smile in what I hope is a comforting manner, but when her eyes focus on me, she goes white again and looks anything but comforted. Her mouth drops open as she slowly sits up.

"Oh my god…I did it." is the first thing that comes out of her mouth.

"And I must be in hell," is the second.

Well, that was rude, but I suppose it's hard to think clearly when you are faced with an angel. I decide to let it go.

"Because why else would Loren Singer be here?"

 _Ok, that's it…_

"Hey! I'll have you know I did _not_ go to hell. I'm an angel."

I try to look dignified. She ruins it by bursting out laughing.

"I must have gotten down a lot of those pills," she says, once she's gotten those annoying giggles under control. "Because clearly I'm hallucinating."

"You aren't hallucinating, Sarah."

"Yes, I am, Loren. Because you keep calling me Sarah. And I'd never let you do that in real life." My former superior officer looks all smug.

Wow. Clearly my mission here is not going to be an easy one. I can't even get her to believe she's still alive. _Hmmmm, maybe if I…_

I reach over and squeeze her injured hand. Hard.

She yelps. "Ouch, goddammit!"

"Sarah, I'm going to have to ask you _not_ take the Lord's name in vain…it really does upset Him."

"Stop calling me Sarah. What the hell happened to my hand?" She holds the bandaged hand in front of her face, and I can see that the wound must still be oozing blood.

"You cut it on glass."

Her brow furrows, and I know she's trying to remember exactly when she would have been around broken glass. I decide to help her out.

"You dropped your glass. Then you fainted and cut your hand when you landed."

"I fainted?" She still looks confused.

"Yes, Sarah, you did. I think I startled you." My mouth twitches. It's hard to keep a straight face when I remember her shock. Yes, yes…I do feel bad that I scared her into unconsciousness, but…actually, no, I don't feel all that bad. I may be an angel, but I'm still me.

Sarah is still staring down at her hand, and I can tell she is still trying to convince herself that she's hallucinating. "Trust me, Sarah. You. Are. Not. Imagining. This." I speak slowly and deliberately, giving her time to hear the truth in each word.

She doesn't appreciate it.

"Trust you? _Trust_ you? You almost ruined my career with that mishap board report in my car!"

 _She would have to bring that up._ "Look, I'm really sorry about that…I was a different person then." Sarah raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah? So, what changed you?"

"Dying."

Sarah continues to stare.

"And becoming an angel."

At that, Sarah snorts. "Sure. Why not? Loren Singer, an angel. Makes perfect sense. _Nooo_ , I'm not hallucinating. Not at all."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Sarah." She rolls her eyes, then narrows them at me.

"So, if you're an angel, why are you here? To escort me to Heaven?"

"Not exactly. I'm here to keep you from there." Her eyes bug out at that.

"So…you're taking me to…Hell?"

I fix her with my most severe gaze. "Well, Sarah, it _is_ a mortal sin." I know the subject of sin, mortal or otherwise, is in no way a laughing matter, but it's still difficult to keep a straight face. She starts to look a little woozy, though, so I let her off the hook.

"No, no, Sarah. You haven't done anything yet. I'm here to keep you from that." I watch her take a few deep breaths, still looking a little shaky. I lean back in my chair, contemplating her. "So, Sarah…why suicide?" I've certainly seen many events in her life that could lead to her wanting to end it all, but I'd like to hear it in her own words.

"I don't want to talk about it with you, Lieutenant." Sarah's fallen back on military protocol; she tries to look stern, but I can see the cracks in the façade. She's scared. It's funny, I wouldn't have picked up on that if I hadn't seen the look on her so many times before, starting when she was just a seven-year-old girl.

"Look, Sarah…I know you're scared—"

At that she abruptly stands up and looms over me. I might have been intimidated when I was alive—though I wouldn't have shown it, of course—but as an angel, I just stare back at her calmly.

"For the last time, _Lieutenant_ Singer, it's Lt. Colonel MacKenzie to you, and I _don't_ have to say anything to you."

Sarah is completely off-balanced here given everything, but I'm still surprised when tears fill her eyes. She blinks them away, but I know I saw them.

"But you'd like to," I say knowingly. "And by the way, _Sarah,_ as an angel, I outrank you. Now, we haven't got much time, so talk."

Her skin flushes then, and I can see that she's hiding her fear behind anger. "Oh, for god's sake! You are _not_ an angel! I'm either dead or almost there, and you're just a figment of my imagination!" She stalks away from me into the kitchen, her movements quick and sharp. As I stand up to follow her, I can't help looking up toward the heavens.

"A little help, here, guys," I mumble. Joseph's voice sounds in my ear. _You're doing fine, dear Loren._

Yeah, and pigs can fly.

When I arrive in her kitchen, she's kneeling down, drawing her finger through the liquid spilled on the floor. I can see the bottles of pills next to her vodka and something lurches in my chest. She was so close to throwing it all away, and she's still not out of the woods. I have to find a way to turn this around.

Slowly, Sarah stands, her back to me. She steps over the shards of glass, then reaches up and opens the cupboard above her head. I watch her take down another glass; I hear the splash of the vodka as she pours it in there and it's like I'm in a trance as she opens one of the larger bottles of pills and dumps half of it into her bandaged hand. She lifts the glass with her other hand, and it gets closer and closer to her lips. I have to stop this now, and it's not because I need to earn my wings or that I'd never let anyone do this in front of me. It's because somewhere along the way I started to care about Sarah MacKenzie. A lot.

" _Stop!"_ I shout, and when she turns to me, there are tears running down her cheeks.

"Why?" she whispers. "I can't do this anymore, Loren."

"Why is that?" I ask.

"Because…I have no one. I ruin everything I touch. From the moment I was born, it's been so hard."

Well there is certainly no denying that. "I know it has been, Sarah. But you've accomplished so much…"

"Have I?"

"You've helped so many people." I have to make her understand.

"But I've hurt them even more." She looks deeply into the clear liquid of her glass. "And all those people I've supposedly helped…they would have found their way. They didn't need me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

"And now I've lost… _him._ Somehow, I've managed to ruin the best friendship, best relationship I've ever had. Loren," she says tiredly. "Why is it when I'm about to die, I see you? Of all people?"

I don't really have an answer to that; really, why am I the one they chose to help her? But regardless of the reason I was chosen, I'm here, I'm her angel, and I have to save her. "Because, I'm an angel. Your _guardian_ angel."

Sarah looks me up and down, but she lowers her hand, setting her glass of vodka back on the counter. The pills, however, are still clutched in her hand. "Well, you look about the kind of angel I'd get. What happened to your wings?"

Now, that I do have an answer for: "I haven't got them yet. I have to earn them. So, don't ruin this for me."

Sarah's chuckle is bitter. "Don't hold your breath." Her hand opens and she stares down at the pills in it. Her other hand starts to reach for the glass again.

"Sarah!" I say, desperate now. "Suicide isn't the answer!" That sounded lame, even to my ears.

"Well, no…I suppose it isn't."

Oh, thank God…

"It would have been better if I'd never been born. Or if I'd died in that accident…with Eddie. I _should_ have died then."

 _Oh, Sarah…_ Suddenly and idea hits me. It could work…

"What do you think, Joseph?" I say out loud. "Well, yes…it'll take a bit of finesse with the space-time continuum. Come on, you're an archangel. You can do it…I think this could work…great, thank you."

I turn back to Sarah, who is looking at me like I'm crazy. "Okay, Sarah…you've got your wish. You're dead. You died in the accident."

"What?"

"You're dead. You've been dead for almost two decades."

"But—" There's a sudden whoosh of air, and I think we are both a little startled to find ourselves standing on the sidewalk in front of her apartment. "What just happened?" she asks, looking up her building. It hits me then. This isn't her building anymore. It's her never-was building.

"You died when you were eighteen, Sarah. You don't live there anymore. Actually, you never did."

Sarah's mouth drops open. She's still wearing her uniform, but the ribbons and oak leaves are gone. She isn't shivering despite not wearing a coat; though the night is quite cold, it doesn't affect me because of the obvious, and it doesn't affect her because she doesn't actually exist in this world.

I give her a few moments to adjust to her new existence, thought I know we need to get moving. She studies her undecorated uniform, holding her arms out in front of her as she turns her head to look at her shoulders. Sarah notices something else the same time I do.

"My hand…it doesn't hurt…" She opens and closes her now unbandaged hand, eyes wide. I smile like the angel I am.

"Of course, it doesn't. You were never here, so you never cut it."

"I don't understand…"

I reach for her hand.

"You've been given a great gift, Sarah: A chance to see what the world would be like without you."

 _End Chapter 11_


	12. Letting Me Help

_A/N: Here's a short one—not sure where I'd end it otherwise. Kind of a filler…_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 12: Letting Me Help**

" _You've been given a great gift, Sarah. A chance to see what the world would be like without you."_

I watch as Sarah considers my words, and just when I think she believes, she snorts and rolls her eyes. "Look, I'm not sure how I ended up out here; I don't know, maybe I hit my head when I fainted and I have some sort of amnesia, but I'm going back inside. Go back to Heaven or wherever you came from and just leave me be, okay?"

 _For goodness sake, must she fight me every step of the way?_ "I'm not leaving you, Sarah. And this isn't your apartment anymore. Right now you're as dead as I am, remember?"

Sarah huffs in obvious frustration, then turns on her heel and stalks back toward the main door of her 'former' building. "Sarah," I shout after her, "you won't get in there!" She tosses a flippant wave behind her and stomps on. It's my turn to roll my eyes and, having no other choice, I follow behind her.

Sarah's hand is hovering above the keypad the tenants use to get into the building when I catch up to her. "I seriously doubt the code is the same," I say, and she jumps, startled. I hear her curse under her breath, and she forcefully enters a combination of numbers. To my surprise, the door clicks open, and Sarah turns to me, a smug look on her face. We both go inside and climb the stairs to 'her' apartment. Well, she may have made it through the front door, but she's going to be in for a big surprise. I don't know how I know this, but the current residents of that apartment are a lovely gay couple, John and Jordan. John is a lawyer and Jordan is a professor at Georgetown University, and right now Jordan is setting things up for a romantic late-night dinner while he waits for John to get home.

Okay, seriously, how do I know all that? _Take a guess,_ a voice speaks from Heaven, and I send up a smile and a thumbs up to Joseph, grateful for the help. Do I really need this knowledge? I doubt it, but I will take any information I can get.

Once at the door to 'her' apartment, I am somewhat amused when she hesitates before trying the knob. Clearly she isn't as sure of herself as she'd like me to believe.

The door is unlocked and the knob turns easily. She pushes it open, her eyes widening as she takes in the scene.

The walls of her old apartment are now a muted grey. The art on the walls is tasteful but with more abstract designs, and the fixtures in the place are more contemporary than what I remember from Sarah's version of the place.

"Hey, John, you're early—" Jordan comes out of the kitchen, his expression one of confusion when he sees us standing there.

"Jordan? What are you—"

"Excuse me, do I know you?" Jordan is polite but obviously wary.

"Of course you do—you used to live below me until you moved in with John…" Sarah's voice fades away as she speaks.

"Ma'am, I think perhaps you've got the wrong apartment. John and I have been here for over four years now."

"But…" Sarah glances around the apartment again, confusion and a little fear in her eyes. With a last glance at Jordan, she nods and starts backing up. "Of course, I'm sorry…you're right…this—this isn't my place. I'm sorry…" She backs out through the door and I back up with her. She shuts the door carefully, takes a few steps down the hall, then turns to me, anger in her eyes.

"Okay, Loren, what the hell was that? Jordan hasn't lived in this building for at least three years. He moved into John's apartment."

"No, he and John decided to move into an entirely new apartment when this one opened up. You were long dead before any of that happened." I explain, enjoying knowing something she doesn't. I know, I should be more understanding, but we really don't have time to sugarcoat anything or otherwise ease her into it.

Sarah is suddenly in my face. "No, Loren…you did something…tricked me…this can't be real…I must be hallucinating…good lord, can't I even kill myself right?"

"Calm down, Sarah. You haven't killed yourself yet, and you won't if I have anything to say about it…of course, you're already dead, so I guess you can't commit suicide now…" I grin winningly at her as she glares.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this, Loren. I-I'll go to JAG…call Harm…something. I know, I'll call Webb. Hell, he's probably involved in this anyway." She heads for the stairwell, stopping halfway down the hall and to turn back toward me. "And stop calling me, Sarah!" I follow her as she continues on.

"Okay, Sarah." I say, and she holds up her hand, middle finger extended. I can't help but laugh. Who knew the always-dignified Lt. Colonel MacKenzie could be just as crude as the rest of us?

Once we're outside, she starts patting down her now plain uniform. "Where the hell is my phone?"

 _Here we go again…_ "You don't have one. You're dead," I remind her.

"Fine, I'll just drive to Webb's. He said he'd be home. Okay, what did you do with my car?" She twirls around in the parking lot, looking for that red Corvette she was always so proud of.

"Nothing. Your 'Vette is now owned by one Dempsey Smith. He bought it to impress women. It hasn't worked."

" _Goddammit!"_ Sarah suddenly shouts, and there is fear, anger, and frustration in her eyes, along with a few tears.

"Sarah…" I point upward. "Try not to use that language."

"Why not? Because you're an angel? From _Heaven?"_ Her tone is sarcastic, and I feel the stirrings of irritation. _Why is she being so stubborn?_

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. "No, it's because God doesn't like it…it hurts Him."

Now Sarah is directly in front of me again. Her tears are flowing freely and the expression on her face is one of despair.

"Why can't I just die? Why do I have to go through all this first? What did I do wrong?"

I can't believe I'm doing this, but I put my arms around her and pull her close. "Nothing, Sarah. You haven't done anything wrong. And I'm here to keep you from doing that."

"By pretending that I'm already dead? That's cruel, Loren, even for you."

I lean away from her. "I'm not doing it to be cruel, and I'm not pretending. You _are_ dead. You died on June 8th, 1986. And I'm going to show you what the world is like because of that."

"And that's going to convince me not to commit suicide?"

"Yes." _At least I hope so…come on, Sarah, let me help you._

Sarah pulls away. "It won't work, Loren," she says with surety. I'm about to plead my case again, but she interrupts me with a deep sigh.

"Okay, fine. Go ahead. Show me a world without me in it."

 _Well, it's about time, Sarah…_

* * *

 _End Chapter 12_


	13. A Hypnotist

_A/N: Here's lucky 13! Thanks again for all the reviews and I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas._

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 13: A Hypnotist**

 _Okay, fine. Go ahead. Show me a world without me in it._

 _You got it, Sarah._ Now…what to show her first. _Ah…_

I take Sarah's hand and close my eyes. When I open them, we're standing in front of some sort of computer store. We're obviously in a small town, and through the window of the store I can see a rather portly gentleman standing behind the counter. He has a friendly, open smile on his face, his expression really no different than it was when he was a fellow JAG lawyer. He looks happy enough, I guess…but there is plenty missing from Bud Roberts' current life.

Sarah hasn't seen Bud yet; she's too busy looking up and down this little town's main street. It's close to Christmas if the shabby decorations adorning the streetlights are any indication, and it looks like the stores left in this downtown area are trying to look festive as well. It all looks a little sad; there's no doubt that many businesses in this area have either moved to be near more thriving retail areas or have folded all together with the arrival of all the big discount stores. I peak in again at Bud, who right now is on the phone with his father and then look over at Sarah; it's probably time for us to get this show on the road. I put my hand on her arm.

"Are you ready?" I ask.

"For what?" she asks rather sullenly. One would think she'd be more amazed at this sudden change in scenery.

"We're going to go meet one of your former…excuse me…never-was colleagues."

She peaks in the window as well. "And who would that be…is that—is that _Bud?"_

"The one and only," I respond. And he really is an only. He has no family to speak of anymore; there's no Harriet, no little AJ…all he has now is this job, a one-bedroom apartment, a father who only talks to him when he wants something, and a brother that is…well, let's just say for now that Mikey Roberts is _not_ in the navy.

"What is he doing here?" Sarah asks, eyes still wide with surprise.

I take her arm and pull her to the door of the shop. "Let's see, shall we?" I smile sweetly at her and she rolls her eyes, but at least she's obedient and comes with me.

The bell on the door jingles as I open it, and this wider version of Bud looks up and smiles. He puts a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and calls out a cheery, "I'll be right with you," and Sarah can only stare.

"What happened to him?" she asks, obviously stunned. Bud Roberts was always rather chubby when I knew him, and I'm sure he just barely made the cut when it came to his physical condition. However, when he lost his leg, the efforts he made to stay in the navy included becoming more fit. This Bud has spilled over into the obese category.

"Oh," I say, following her gaze, "he's no longer in the navy. He doesn't have to worry about PRT scores anymore."

Sarah's brow furrows. "But…he fought so hard…why would he give it up? Did they end up letting him go because of his leg after all?" She turns toward me while Bud's conversation with his father appears to grow more heated.

"His leg had nothing to do with it. He's still got two good ones." She looks back and forth between us, clearly not knowing what to think about this development.

"Well, shouldn't that have been a good thing?" she asks, her brown eyes full of confusion.

"Well," I say, while Bud turns his back to us. "I suppose it is always a good thing when you're not an amputee, but Bud was out of the navy long before anyone would have considered sending him to Afghanistan." Sarah is considering this when Bud finally hangs up the phone.

"What can I do for you ladies today?" Bud asks. I can tell he's still flustered from his conversation with his deadbeat dad, but Sarah, of course, doesn't know that's who he was talking to.

Sarah steps forward. I can tell she doesn't entirely believe me that this Bud will have no idea who she is, but I suppose I will just have to let her figure some things out for herself.

"Bud?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you—um, don't you remember me?"

Bud smiles at her, a generic, friendly, 'I have no idea who you are' smile and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

Sarah isn't ready to give this up. "Bud, it's me. It's Mac." She sounds almost desperate for him to know her and all I can do is look on in sympathy.

Bud's smile falters a bit, but he remains polite. "I'm sorry, ma'—Mac. Did we work together?"

"Yeah, Bud…you were in the navy…"

Bud's expression darkens. "I haven't been in the navy for a long time." It's clear this is a sore subject for him; I know he didn't exactly leave the navy by choice, but his fit reps weren't what they should have been, among other reasons why he was separated from the service.

"But—" I decide I should probably intervene.

"Excuse me, Bud…I need to have a word with Mac here." I take Sarah's arm and turn her around to walk her toward the front window. Bud shrugs, and I'm sure he's relieved.

"He doesn't know you, Sarah."

"Sure, he does," she says, stubbornly.

"No, he doesn't. You never joined the marines because you didn't live long enough to. Bud washed out of the navy after he failed out of law school."

Sarah glances over at Bud. "What do you mean, he failed out of law school? He graduated third in his class."

"No, Sarah, he didn't. As much as I never understood it when I was alive, you and Ha-, _you_ were a good influence on him."

"I didn't do so much…it was mainly Harm—well, so what. I wasn't there, okay, but Harm…he would have…what about him?"

Ok, I really don't want to go into _that_ right now. Not yet, anyway. Not unless I absolutely have to.

"Um," I say, "it, ah, took _both_ of you." Sarah bites her lip, considering this.

"What, um, happened?" she says in a near whisper. Bud is now occupied with another customer, so we have a few minutes to chat without looking conspicuous.

"Well, Bud did end up at JAG…for a while. He did go to law school…but you weren't there to encourage him, among other things, and he just couldn't keep up with it. Not with school, not with his PT, and once he failed out of law school, they just couldn't keep him in anymore."

I can tell she has more questions, but I really hope she doesn't ask me about _him._ Sure, back in the day, I would have done almost anything to undermine the colonel, but now that I know her…I really don't want to hurt her like that. Yes, I know I likely will have to eventually, but until then…

"Loren?" Sarah says tentatively.

 _Here it comes._

"What about Harriet?"

 _Oh, thank goodness…that one isn't so bad._

"She and Bud met when she started working for the Inspector General's office. They went out, but it didn't go anywhere." _Because you and Harm weren't there to coach him through it_. Sad, really, that he needed two other adults to make his love life successful, but I guess this _is_ Bud we're talking about.

"Oh," Sarah says softly. Her fists open and close a few times before she asks her next question. "So…little AJ…he's not…"

"His parents never got together, so he was never born. There's no AJ, no Jimmie, no baby Sarah…"

"But—"

"They never lived, Sarah, because you were never there." Sarah looks pale and not a little shaky, and I worry for moment that she'll faint again. She takes a few deep breaths though, and she seems to have it together again. I see her blink back a few tears before another jingle of the bell on the main door heralds the arrival of another customer.

 _Or maybe not…_

"Hey, _Bud!"_ Sarah turns at the sound of a familiar voice, but I suspect that the tone of that voice is a surprise.

"Mikey?" Sarah says in shock. The young man before us is nothing like the future naval officer I'm sure she remembers. The kid before us is a punk, from his bushy unkempt hair, to his cracked leather jacket, to his ripped jeans. This Mikey Roberts has had numerous brushes with the law and if it weren't for Bud's intervention, he'd likely be in jail. You'd hope he'd be grateful to his older brother, but the more Bud does for him, the more abusive Mikey gets.

At the sound of Sarah's voice, Mikey glances our way. He looks Sarah up and down with a disgusting leer and frankly, even if I were still the Loren of old, I would have taken him to task for it.

"Mikey," Sarah says again. "What happened?"

Mikey's expression goes from a leer to a look of confused irritation. His business with Bud, however, takes precedence over two unknown women, and the punk stalks over to the counter where his brother stands. The two talk back and forth, Bud getting more and more agitated, until finally Mikey grabs Bud by the collar of his shirt.

"Hey!" Sarah shouts, stepping forward. This, of course, is our cue to leave. I grab Sarah by the arms and blink, and in an instant, we're back in front of a certain Georgetown apartment building.

"What are you—" Sarah is still shouting at Mikey and pulls away from me, but then she sees where we are. She whirls around, clearly upset. "Dammit, Loren. We have to go back—we can't let Mikey—" Suddenly she straightens up and glares at me. "No…that couldn't have been real. You must have…hypnotized me…or something…you're a hypnotist!"

The ridiculousness of that statement makes me laugh outright. "No, of course not. I'm your guardian angel." _And here we are, right back at the beginning…come on, Sarah…_

"No…no…that—that never happened…Bud and Harriet are safe in their home with Jimmie and Little AJ. Mikey's at the Academy." She's in tears now, and I'm feeling rather guilty. I don't know, though, how else to get her to believe her life is worth living. Worth continuing.

"Why—why was Mikey that way? He was… _is_ a good kid…"

"Sarah…"

"Just say it, Loren. What happened to all of them?"

I take a deep breath. "Well, Sarah, you weren't at JAG when Bud needed someone. He needed you, but he also needed Harriet, and you weren't there to keep them together. Bud and Harriet never got married so they weren't around to support Mikey. Mikey actually did stand up to his father and refused to join the navy, but Bud wasn't in a place where he could have guided his brother. Big Bud kicked Mikey out, he fell in with a bad crowd…and because Bud feels guilty about it all, he spends his time cleaning up after Mikey and keeping him out of jail. Mikey is still angry about his father and even though Bud is doing everything he can to help, he's still upset because he feels like Bud abandoned him. So, you see…the impact you had on Bud Roberts goes beyond just his one life."

I give Sarah a few moments to absorb all of that. I can see the uncertainty in her eyes, but I can also see a spark of belief there. She keeps denying it, but I know there's a growing part of her that knows what she sees is true.

She paces back and forth in front of me a few times, then stops a few feet from me. "Okay," she says, "if, and I repeat, _if,_ all that is true…it would seem my work is done. Bud's a lawyer, he's in the navy, he has Harriet and the kids…what does it matter if I—I leave now?"

 _Oh, Sarah…what do I say to that?_

"It matters, Sarah."

"How do you know that?" She swipes at the tears that once again slip down her cheeks. "I'm not even…we're not…not _close_ anymore. They don't need me."

 _Lord, they do need her…I know it…but how do I convince her? I can't show her the future…_

And I really can't show her the future…it hasn't happened yet; people have free will and all that…there's just no way to show her what will happen if she leaves now. I was hoping that if she saw what kind of impact she'd had on the people around her, she would realize that she's sure to have an impact on others in the future.

"Sarah, you're just going to have to take my word for it. They love you. You're the one distancing yourself from them." This is true. I saw so much of it when Joseph was showing me her life, and I know it is her perceived guilt that is holding her back.

Sarah crosses her arms over her chest and stares me down. "Take your word for it, Loren? You're going to have to give me a little more to work with, there."

 _Lord, there has to be an easier way to for me to earn my wings._ "For goodness sake, Sarah, can't you let that go? I've changed. Dying and losing…um, dying and going to Heaven, being an angel, seeing you grow up—"

"What?"

"Seeing you grow up. I've been watching you since you were seven."

"How?"

Goodness. I've just transported her to a different time and place, and _that_ is what she questions? Give me a break!

"It's Heaven, Sarah. We can do whatever we want." _Not quite, Loren_ , comes Joseph's voice in my head. I mentally shush him; of course, I know that. I'm just trying to make a point with Sarah. _Carry on, then,_ his voice sounds again, and I roll my eyes.

"Well?" Sarah still has her arms crossed over her chest, and now she's actually tapping her foot.

"Well, Sarah…the nice angels in Heaven thought I should know a bit about you before I came down to save you."

She looks suddenly wary. "What did…" She swallows hard. "What did you find out?"

"I know that your father drank and hit your mother."

Sarah snorts at that. "That's probably fairly common knowledge."

It really isn't, common knowledge, that is, but obviously that's not all I know. "Well…when you were seven, your mother let you help with Christmas dinner. You burnt your hand when you grabbed the handle of the roasting pan; your mom's wrist was broken so she couldn't lift the turkey out of the oven by herself. You mashed the potatoes for her, but because you burnt your hand, they came out a little lumpy. And that day you also made your first pie—" Sarah's face goes white at that.

"Stop it."

"It was pumpkin…"

"I said, stop it, Loren." Sarah's crying again, and I have to admit, despite knowing what happened with her first pie, I've never quite understood why a simple pumpkin pie causes her so much anguish. I decide to push her just a bit.

"Like I said, it was pumpkin…"

"Loren, _please…_ "

"And you burnt the edges a bit…" Sarah's hands come up to cover her ears. "And then your dad threw his piece against the wall."

"Why are you doing this, Loren? Why?"

"Why does your pie upset you so much? Everybody loves it, but you never eat it. You'll eat other people's pumpkin pie, and you know darn well none of it is as good as yours. Everybody raves about that pie, but you tell them you get it at some non-existent grocery store in Georgetown. Come on, Sarah, even I indulged in it. You've brought it to every Christmas and Thanksgiving gathering we've ever had, and we've all fought for the last piece at one time or another. So, Sarah, what's the big deal?"

"There's no deal. I just don't like to talk about it."

"But why, Sarah?"

"I—"

"Well?"

"I—I don't know."

"You don't know? Come on, Sarah—you can do better than that!" I've come to hate seeing her cry and I hate doing this to her, and I know that solving the mystery of her pie is probably not detrimental to keeping her from killing herself, but it's going to help her in the long run. That is, if I can keep her here. "You can do better!" I repeat.

"No, I can't! I don't know, Loren. I don't _know!"_

"Yes, you do, Sarah." And I think I'm starting to as well.

"No…"

"It was your father's favorite."

"I know, dammit!"

"You've been trying to make that burned pie up to him ever since, haven't you?" That thought hits me like the proverbial ton of bricks. _Of course…_

Sarah is trembling as she shakes her head.

"You thought that if you made a perfect pie, he'd be nice to you. To your mom."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"But he wasn't. Your pie got better and better, but he got worse and worse. Your mom left. He hit you. Then you made it for your husband…it didn't keep him around either."

Sarah's sobbing into her hands now, but I'm not finished. "So, you still kept working on that pie…perfecting it…and finally, you made it for Harm. You were so proud that he loved it, but you couldn't even tell him you made it. You couldn't tell him you made any of it…because if he knew, you wouldn't think he was sincere anymore. Because letting your father or Chris know you made it never got you anything. Of course, not telling him didn't help either…he left you anyway."

"Just stop, Loren. Stop," she sobs, and I'm having to draw on every last bit of the old Loren to keep from crying with her.

"But you still make that pie, and it should be impossible, but it gets better every year. You won't taste it though…because even though you know it'll be perfection, it will remind you of how imperfect you are…how you'll never be enough."

"I thought you were trying to _keep_ me from killing myself, Loren."

"I am, Sarah. And I'm telling you, you are enough. You _are._ You always have been—you've been _more_ than enough, no matter what all those people did to tell you otherwise."

Sarah brushes more tears aside. "Have I? It would seem that the number of people out there who've told or shown me I'm not is a little high if that's true."

"Well, people are assholes." I say this matter-of-factly and I'm being totally serious, but this actually causes Sarah to laugh—and it's not the sarcastic, bitter laughter I've heard from her tonight; she's actually, honestly, amused.

"Well, you would know something about that…"

I'm about to let her have it for that crack, but a glint in her eyes tells me she's teasing.

"Come on, Sarah. I've changed." She stares at me for long moments, and even though I'm an angel, I start to squirm. A soft smile finally graces her lips.

"Yes, Loren," she says. "I believe you have."

* * *

I've let Sarah take a little breather before we move on. Seeing Bud and Mikey that way and our little breakthrough about the pie has to have been difficult for her, and, though we are running short on time, she needs this.

I'll be the first to admit that I still don't entirely understand the whole pie thing despite our conversation, but I honestly do think it has become a symbol of her efforts to be loved and a reminder that she's always falling short. Of course, that's her perception. Personally, I think she's just been surrounded by assholes all her life…well, maybe that's a little strong, but from what I've seen, more people have let her down than the average.

"I had to take that burned pie to my grandmother's house the next day," Sarah says, surprising me and interrupting my thoughts.

"I know. Your Uncle Matt picked you up and you stayed the night there with him and your Aunt Susan."

"They all raved about the pie, but I always thought they were just saying that," she continues. "But maybe…"

"Yeah?" I prompt her, though I already know about that, but she merely sighs. She's lost in thought for a moment, then turns fully toward me.

"Nothing…you know, Uncle Matt left me too."

I raise my eyebrows at her, knowing her bringing up her Uncle Matt is a perfect segue into my next plan for her.

"I can understand intellectually why he did what he did…but he had to know where he'd end up. I never understood why he took that risk when he knew I didn't have anyone else." I nod sympathetically. Truthfully, I've always wondered that too, or at least I've wondered about that as long as I've known about Matthew O'Hara.

I have many opinions about the theft of the Declaration of Independence and none of them are flattering to Uncle Matt, but I'll keep them to myself for now. What I have to show Sarah next is going to be terribly painful for her; there's no need to make it worse.

It seems that Uncle Matt stole the Declaration of Independence in this timeline as well, but the outcome was very different.

And now I'll have to explain that to her.

 _Here goes nothing…_

"Yes, Sarah?" I heard what she said, and yes, Joseph, I _am_ stalling. I'm really not looking forward to this and I suspect even the old Loren Singer would have hesitated before telling her the truth. At least I hope she would have…honestly, the more I think about my old self, the more I'm surprised I ended up in Heaven.

Sarah hesitates before asking her question again.

"Um…Uncle Matt…did he…did he steal it here too?"

I nod slowly. "He did, Sarah."

"Is he…he…in prison?"

This time I shake my head back and forth. "No, he isn't."

She tries to hide it, but I can see her distress growing. She knows what I'm going to say.

"Is he…dead?"

Oh, this is hard… "Yes, Sarah, he is. I'm sorry."

She swallows hard, trying to keep it together. "How…how did it…it was those two sergeants, wasn't it…the ones that killed Captain Cahill? They killed Uncle Matt too…"

"No, it wasn't them."

"Then what…how, um, how did it happen?"

I take a deep breath.

"He was executed, Sarah. For treason."

* * *

 _End Chapter 13_


	14. Some Easier Way

_A/N: Another chapter this fine day!_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 14: Some Easier Way**

" _No…"_

Sarah stumbles back a bit as she utters that one simple word. I reach out to steady her, but I don't think she even knows I'm here. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, and I worry yet again that she's going to pass out again. I don't blame her; hearing your uncle was put to death for treason has got to be a shock of the highest magnitude. Finally, she lets me lead her over to a bench in front of her former apartment building and I push her down into it.

"Wh—What—why…treason was never part of the charges…" She's rocking back and forth a bit, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. I put my hand on her back and I can feel the tremor in her body. "H-Harm and I…we…he got twenty years…up for parole in ten…"

"I'm sorry, Sarah. You weren't there, so Harm wasn't there. You never found him out in the desert, you never convinced him to turn himself in, and you and Harm weren't there to defend him." I don't plan to tell her that her death hit Matthew O'Hara hard; he was never the same and he grew increasingly reckless, and that also contributed to his conviction and execution.

We sit together without talking for long moments, her breathing the only sound that mars the quiet, and I'm almost startled when she finally speaks.

"I want you to take me to him."

 _Oh, dear…seriously, there really must be some easier way to earn my wings._ "I can't, Sarah. He's dead," I say patiently. Or at least I'm trying to sound patient. I was really hoping that once she heard how her existence saved her uncle, she'd beg me to return her to her life.

"No…take me to him. His grave…or whatever."

"Sarah…"

"Loren, take me to him now." She's clearly adamant about this, and I suppose I can do this for her. I take her hand in mine and close my eyes.

"Okay, Sarah."

* * *

When I open my eyes again, we're standing outside a cemetery, and though we're in Arizona and the weather doesn't affect me, I know it is unseasonably cold here. Sarah shivers beside me despite the fact that she shouldn't be feeling the cold either.

"He's here?" Sarah asks, and I can only nod. Uncle Matt's body is buried toward the back of this small area, and with a tug on her sleeve, I lead her to it.

The only reason Matthew O'Hara has a headstone is because his wife, Susan, died before him. He and Susan had taken the practical if a bit macabre step of purchasing a headstone and preplanning their funerals, and now they lay side by side under a simple marble marker. Matt didn't have the funeral he'd originally planned, however; there was no family to speak of and when one is executed for treason, people tend not to want to be associated with that.

I stand back as Sarah kneels down by the headstone, her finger reaching out to trace Matt's name and his date of birth and death: _Matthew James O'Hara, January 4_ _th_ _, 1946—October 8_ _th_ _, 2001._ Sarah sits there stoically for a moment, but then her shoulders start to shake and she leans forward to rest her forehead against the cool marble. I let her cry for a moment, let her have that release, before I finally take her by the arm and pull her up. We find a bench near the front of the cemetery to sit on and she sobs against my shoulder.

After a few minutes, her tears are spent and she sits up, brushing away the last bit of wetness on her face. "Who knew, Loren," she says, shakily, "that one day I'd actually be crying on _your_ shoulder."

My lips curve up into a smirk. "Well, I won't tell if you won't." She chuckles lightly.

"There'd be no point. No one would ever believe me."

I sit up straighter. "Hey! I wasn't so bad…" Sarah just eyes me with one brow raised, and then I have to laugh a little too. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"So…" Sarah starts.

"Yes, Sarah?"

"Who, ah, who defended my uncle?"

"Commander Mattoni." She nods, and I know what she's going to ask me next.

"And, um…who handled the prosecution?"

There's no point in hiding it from her. "Lt. Commander Rabb."

"Oh," she gulps. "Uncle Matt would have been up against a lot."

"Yeah, Sarah. He was. Harm did his job exceedingly well." Again, no point in sugarcoating anything.

"I-I'm sure. He did when he defended him. I was…rather blown away by him."

"Were you?" I ask, warily. We're getting very close to the subject I've wanted to avoid from the beginning. Finding out what happened to the Boy Scout will hit her worse than anything I've shown her today, really, anything she's experienced up until now. Yes, I'm fully prepared to disclose Rabb's fate if that's what it takes to save her, but I pray I don't have to.

"Yeah," Sarah continues. "The way he looked at me when we first met…like he'd seen a ghost…it made my hair stand on end. But he was so—so larger than life, so passionate…I started to fall for him almost immediately. It wasn't until later than I found out he practically had seen a ghost when we met."

"Really?" I say, although I am utterly and completely familiar with the story of Diane Schonke and her murder.

"Diane Schonke…she was his academy sweetheart. She was murdered by the XO of her ship a few months before I came on board at JAG. She could have been my twin…or I could have been hers, I guess." She leans forward to rest her elbow on her knee, her chin in her hand. " _That_ really threw me. I kept wondering if he saw her every time he looked at me. By the time I figured out that he'd stopped seeing her long before …it was too late. He'd left to fly, and I hadn't been able to tell him how I felt about him. I used Diane as an excuse, Jordan…and then I took it out on him when he came back. Hell, we should be married by now…and none of this crap would have ever happened."

I nod, keeping silent, not wanting to give anything away. But she asks anyway…

"Loren, where is Harm? Is he still at JAG?"

"No…"

"Did he…is he, um, back on a carrier?"

"No."

"Then what is he doing, Loren? He's still in the navy, isn't he?" She senses something, I know it, and I know I'm just delaying the inevitable, but still, I'm unable to bring myself to tell her the whole truth.

"No, he's not, Sarah."

"Then where is he, Loren?"

"It's complicated."

"What kind of answer is that?" She's irritated and scared at the same time. "Loren, tell me where he is!"

"Is that an order?" I'm shamelessly stalling now, and I know it's stupid, but I almost can't bear to see what this will do to her. "Because you can't order me."

"Really? Because you outrank me now? Dammit, Loren! Where. Is. Harm?!"

"You don't want to know, Sarah," I sigh.

Suddenly Sarah has hold of the lapels of my uniform. "Loren, goddammit, where is he?!" She gives me a violent shake. "Where is he?!" She shakes me some more, and finally, I crack.

"He's in Leavenworth, Sarah!" I shout, and she abruptly stops shaking me. "He's in Leavenworth," I say again, in a much softer tone. Her hands drop away and her eyes are begging me to tell her it was all a lie. But I can't. Because it's not a lie.

Harmon Rabb, Jr is in prison for murder.

* * *

 _End Chapter 14_


	15. Because You Weren't There

_A/N: And here is the next installment! Thank you for the reviews!_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 15: Because You Weren't There**

"No, that can't be…"

"I'm sorry, Sarah."

"Whatever it is, I _know_ he didn't do it. He couldn't have." Sarah, in denial of course, grips my upper arms, but at least she doesn't shake me. "I know it," she repeats. She sounds so sure, but there's just one problem…

Harmon Rabb is, in fact, guilty of murder. In the first degree.

Sarah lets go of me and starts pacing back and forth, her arms wrapped once again around herself. She looks so small, huddled against a cold she shouldn't be able to feel, and I hate what I'm about to do.

"Sarah," I say, repeating her name a bit louder when she doesn't respond to me the first time. "Sit down. Please." I think she sees something of the truth in my eyes and her whole body seems to crumple as she sits down next to me.

"Tell me," she whispers, and I find myself taking her hand.

"He's been in since April 1998. At Leavenworth since February 1999 for murder."

She thinks for a moment, and then she sits up straighter, her eyes widening. "The Russian? It's because I wasn't there to defend him, isn't it?"

I tighten my grip on her hand. "No, Sarah, it wasn't the Russian." Her brow furrows as she tries to think of who else it could have been.

I know I am only drawing this out and I just need to tell her and get it over with, but the words get caught in my throat.

"But who else… _no…_ Harm wouldn't have…he wouldn't have actually done it…"

"But he did, Sarah." I know her mind has come to the correct conclusion.

" _No!"_ Sarah wrenches her hand from mine and jumps from the bench.

"Sarah…"

"No! Harm didn't do it…he—he couldn't have! Someone framed him…"

"Sarah, there were witnesses…Bud—"

"Bud saw? Why didn't he stop him?"

"He couldn't."

"But—"

"Sarah, there was only one person who could have stopped him that night."

Sarah's hands come up and cover her ears as she shakes her head. "No…he fell…he was crushed…"

"No, Sarah. He was shot."

"Then it must have been an accident." She's starting to sound desperate and it's heartbreaking. "Who—who defended him? Was it Carolyn Imes? She never passed the Bar. He could appeal!"

"Sarah, the admiral himself defended Harm, but there was only so much he could do. It was a slam dunk case."

And it was a slam dunk. Two dock workers and a homeless man saw it…and Bud Roberts watched as his mentor shot the man who killed his academy sweetheart…

Commander Benjamin Daniel Holbarth.

* * *

Sarah hasn't said anything for several minutes.

She's shut down, the pain of learning that her Boy Scout killed a man out of vengeance is apparently too much, and it's made even worse by the fact that she could have stopped it were she alive in this reality. I've been sitting beside her, my arm around her shoulders, hoping she'll snap out of it before I have to take us out of here, but thus far she hasn't even moved. She stares straight ahead, and I can't tell if she's even aware of her surroundings.

I know what happened the night Sarah showed up at that shipyard, how she came running out of the mist, dressed in Harriet's spare uniform. Holbarth thought he was seeing Diane's ghost and in his fright backed up and fell into the water. He ended up being crushed between the dock and the hull of a ship, and when Mac asked Harm if he really would have done it, he told her that now they'd never know.

Well, she knows now.

Bud had no choice but to tell the truth and things went downhill for him after that. He was already floundering, and the guilt and loss he felt over his mentor tipped him over the edge into mediocrity.

 _Do you see, Sarah,_ I want to ask her, _the impact you've had on Bud and Harm? The impact you've had on so many? And think what impact you could have in the future!_

"I need to see him."

Her quiet voice is firm, resolute when it finally breaks the silence, and I know I'm about to lose a battle. But I still have to try…

"Sarah…that's not a good idea."

"Loren, I need to…I have to see it for myself."

"But why, Sarah? Isn't it enough to know that you prevented that?" After all this, does she still not see her worth?

Sarah closes her eyes for a moment. "No. I need to…" Her eyes open again, and they're pleading with mine.

I'm about to give in, because I always knew I would, when she asks something that throws me.

"And I want to talk to him."

"Absolutely not!" She can't possibly be serious.

"Loren, please. I—I just have to do this. I need to tell him I'm sorry."

It's my turn to jump from the bench, and I loom above her. "For goodness sake, Sarah! Why would you want to put yourself through that? He won't know who you are! _You_ never lived past the age of eighteen! And this Harm is _nothing_ like the one you remember. The one who'd be devastated if you killed yourself! Can't we just go back to your life? Or have I still not convinced you that your life is worth living?"

A shadow passes over her face and she doesn't answer my question. She just continues to beg. "Please, Loren…just take me to him. I know you can make it so I can talk to him. _Please!"_

"Sarah…I honestly don't know if I can do that…"

"Then ask Joseph…that's who you keep talking to, isn't it?" She looks Heavenward. "Joseph! Let Loren take me to Harm. Please. _Please…"_ Her words end in a sob but before I can say anything, there's a familiar whoosh of air and everything goes black.

* * *

I'm stunned for a moment, so I can only imagine how Sarah feels when we arrive at wherever Joseph has taken us. I look over at her and she looks a little green, sitting there with her eyes closed. While she regains her equilibrium, I take the opportunity to evaluate our surroundings.

Although I was only ever here once, I recognize this place. We're sitting in a sparsely furnished visitor's room in the US Army Disciplinary Barracks, and I would guess that in her original timeline, Sarah visited her uncle in much the same way. The knowledge comes to me that they're bringing Harm here to meet his visitor soon, so I'd better get Sarah up to speed. I also know that I'm invisible to everyone else here.

I feel her tense beside me as I tell her that Harm is on his way, but she merely nods and stares at the door across the room. It's another five minutes before the door opens. A guard enters first and then another guard walks the prisoner in. Even knowing the fate of this Harmon Rabb, I'm thrown at his appearance. Sarah gasps next to me and my heart clenches in sympathy.

This Harmon Rabb has aged considerably in the time he's been here. He spends most of his time isolated from the other prisoners; it's because of him that many are here. That hasn't saved him from the occasional scuffle, and I see he has jagged laceration down the right side of his face. There's bruising around it, and the sutures holding it together were not done with any particular attention to cosmesis. He's bulkier than I remember; having spent much of his time in the gym here, but his bearing is no longer that of the strong naval officer he once was. There's a subtle hunch to his posture and his face sports more than a five o'clock shadow, with over half of the rough hairs grey.

"Harm?" Sarah whispers, and his head snaps up in shock.

His already pale face whitens further as he slowly sits across from her. His fingers reach forward and caress her cheek, and I see tears forming in his eyes.

Sarah's tears are already falling as she lifts her hand to hold his against her. "I knew you would remember me." A single tear falls down Harm's weathered cheek. "I'm so sorry, Harm."

"Di-Diane?"

Her whole being crumbles at that single word, and the look on Sarah's face is one of grief and despair.

"No…it's me. Mac."

"Mac?" Harm yanks his hand away from her face and stares hard at her.

"Yes. Mac…from JAG." I see the desperation in her expression and hear it in her words and it's tearing" me apart.

"JAG?" Harm leans back, a growing fury clouding his features. "What the hell is going on here?"

"H-Harm?"

Harm stands up so abruptly his chair falls over and he's suddenly looming over her. "Look lady, I don't know who you are, but if this is some sort of sick joke…"

"No, Harm!" she cries. "I'd never do that. You know that!" Sarah stands then and reaches out to touch his arm.

It's a mistake.

"Don't touch me!" he shouts, and I wonder where in hell his guards are. It's clearly time for us to leave and I reach for Sarah's arm, but she evades it. She goes around to Harm's side of the table, moving with a speed that I didn't know was possible, and _where are the guards?!_

"Harm, Harm, please. I'm sorry!" Sarah sobs and the horrible scene plays out in front of me as if it's in slow motion. She grabs Harm by the arms, but he throws her off of him like she's a mere rag doll. She lands several feet away, hitting the concrete hard with an audible smack. Harm isn't done yet though, and he lunges for her. He's enraged and finally the guards are pouring in as I rush to Sarah's side. Harm fights the men who now have hold of him and he nearly breaks away, lunging once again toward the woman who now cowers on the floor. I kneel beside her and wrap her in my arms, quickly assessing her for injuries, knowing full well the worst injuries will be emotional rather than physical. Harm is shouting nearly incoherently, but what I can make out are horrible, hate filled words. Sarah flinches in my arms, still sobbing, but then suddenly she's screaming at the guards. She's begging them to stop as they begin to violently subdue Harm. They really don't have a choice, for Harm's struggling equally violently, and when I get a glimpse of his eyes, I'm horrified to see murder in them.

I know without a doubt that if Harm manages to break away from his guards, that he'll kill her. She's hysterical now, crying and screaming out her devastation. We have to get out of here. _Joseph!_ I scream in my mind. _Help! Get us out of here. Joseph! Joseph!_ Oh, god, Harm's broken away and he's nearly upon us.

 _ **JOSEPH!**_

* * *

 _End Chapter 15_


	16. A Wonderful Life

_A/N: Another chapter!_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 16: A Wonderful Life**

 _ **JOSEPH!**_

I hear my own cry echoing in the silence around me. I slowly open my eyes, relieved to see that we're once again outside Sarah's old apartment building. My relief is short-lived, however; Sarah is nowhere to be found.

 _You didn't leave her there, did you Joseph?_

I frantically spin around, terrified that Harm caught her and hurt her. I'm about to call her name when I hear it…

A low, keening sound from somewhere behind me fills the night air and I whip around, still not seeing her. But then I look down, and what I see breaks my once frozen heart.

Sarah is huddled on the ground, her face buried in her arms. If she could feel the cold right now, she'd be halfway to hypothermia. The sound coming for her is more heartrending than any of her previous sobs as she trembles and rocks back and forth. "Sarah?" I call softly but she doesn't hear me.

I carefully touch her arm as I kneel down beside her, not wanting to startle her, but I do anyway. She jumps and frantically scoots away from me and it takes her a moment before she realizes it's just me.

"Oh, god, Loren…he was so…how could he…oh my god…" She starts to sob again, and it's almost a relief after what I heard before. I creep closer to her so that I can put my arms around her, and for a moment I just hold her tight and stroke her hair. Had circumstances been different with me and _her…_ I would have done this same thing, giving comfort, sharing strength, and it strikes me then that Sarah MacKenzie really needs a mother. Not that sorry excuse that she met at her father's deathbed, but someone who would have been strong for her instead of the other way around.

Joe and Deanne MacKenzie were abysmal parents. Oh, I know Joe is sorry and has been forgiven by both God and Sarah, but that doesn't change the fact that he let her down here on Earth. Her mother is still out there somewhere, and after knowing Sarah's whole story, I think what Deanne did was worse. She abandoned her daughter, left her to fend for herself against a cruel world, and I can't think of anything more despicable. I know _I_ would never have left Emma…

 _Emma…_

Oh, sweet Jesus, and I don't mean that in the bad way, that little girl…she was my daughter.

 _My daughter…_

 _Oh, baby…please forgive me…_

I can't dwell on this discovery now, though. Sarah has stopped sobbing and is quiet save for her shuddering breaths, and please, dear God, please let her believe life is worth living…

"Loren…why did he do it? He had to know what would happen."

"I don't know, Sarah." Honestly, I never thought the Boy Scout would do anything like that either, but I suppose in the heat of passion…

"If I had just been there…"

"Yes."

"I would have stopped him…"

"Yes."

"Bud would still be in the navy. He'd be a lawyer."

"Yes, Sarah." _Joseph, I think we're about to have a breakthrough here!_

"And Uncle Matt…he'd…he'd…he'd still be alive. Because H-Harm…and I…" Sarah looks down at her hands for a moment, then lifts her head again to look me in the eye. "I did all a that?"

I smile at her. "Yes, you did. You see, Sarah, you've really had a wonderful life. Don't you see what a mistake it would be to just throw it away?"

She doesn't say anything right away and the silence is deafening. She just stares at me, but I sense it isn't really me I'm seeing. I have to fight the urge to speak; she needs to come to her conclusions on her own. I bite my lip to keep myself quiet, and it's killing me. _Come on, Sarah!_

Several long moments pass and I'm about to give up when something changes in her face. Her tears flow again, but this time it's like the sun has come out just to brighten her expression.

"Loren, I—I want to live again. Please. Let me have my life back?"

 _I thought you'd never ask._ "Of course, Sarah. Joseph? Did you hear that? She wants to live!" I can't help it—I'm actually laughing with joy now as I pull Sarah off the ground and hug her. I can feel the subtle shift as we return to Sarah's world, and when I let go of her, she looks down with a gasp.

Her oak leaves and ribbons are back where they belong, and I can tell she's feeling the cold again. It doesn't seem to bother her overmuch; she's too excited. And about the strangest things…

"Look, Loren, my hand! It's bleeding! My hand's bleeding, Loren!"

Sure enough, it is, and I think we'd best get her back up to her apartment before she freezes and so we can fix it. She must have the same idea, because the next thing I know, she's grabbed my hand and is pulling me toward her building.

"Come on, Loren! Let's get inside. It's freezing out here, and I want to see it again—my apartment. _My_ apartment. It's mine again!" She's practically running now, and I chase after her, pausing as she inputs the security code. The lock clicks open, and we're on our way again. She bypasses the elevator and practically flies up the stairs. We rush down the hall and she pushes open her door. She steps inside and for a moment she just stands in the doorway, a look of awe on her face.

Everything is as she left it, from her tree to the color of her walls to the pictures that hang there. "It's mine again," she whispers. "It's mine again!" This time she shouts, laughing at herself as she walks through her apartment, taking it all in. Her good humor fades, however, when she sees what's still in the kitchen.

"I was so close, Loren…I was going to do it."

"I know, Sarah."

"I'm so glad…I'm so glad you came around, Loren." She turns and pulls me into a fierce embrace.

"Me too, Sarah, me too." She pulls back after a minute, looking me hard in the eye.

"Loren?" she says, and she sounds tentative.

"Yes, Sarah?"

"I'm sorry…for what happened to you. You and your little girl."

The mention of my daughter brings a tear to my eye, but I smile anyway. "Emma. Her name was Emma."

"Emma," she repeats. "That's lovely, Loren."

"Thank you, Sarah." I have more I want to say to her, but I sense my time here is growing short. "I have to go, Sarah, but I really wish I had taken time to get to know you when I was alive. I wish a lot of things were different…that I had been different…I think we could have been friends…"

She grins. "I think so too, Loren." Her arms go around me again, but I know I'm already fading away from her.

"Goodbye, Sa—Colonel MacKenzie."

"Call me Sarah." Her voice comes from a great distance, but I know she hears me when I speak again.

"Goodbye, Sarah. And welcome back to your wonderful life."

And like that, I'm gone.

* * *

Mac stood in her kitchen, wiping away the tears that continued to fall. They were more happy than sad, and for a moment she just let herself think about everything she'd seen and everything that was again because she lived. Loren, an angel. Bud and Harriet, married with two beautiful children. Her uncle, though in prison, alive and well and possibly free in the next few years. And Harm…

Free. Happy. For all intents and purposes, a parent. None of that would have been possible if she hadn't been there for him. Perhaps their friendship would never be what it once was, and maybe he wouldn't love her as she loved him, and maybe much of that was her fault, but he was here where he belonged, able to help who knows how many more souls.

And she was here too…It was true…one life touches so many others. When it's not there, it leaves an awfully big hole…and thanks to some divine intervention, she wouldn't be leaving that kind of hole.

Sarah went about cleaning up her mess in the kitchen, sweeping up the glass and wiping up the vodka. The rest of the vodka went down the sink and the bottle immediately went down the garbage shoot. The pills were flushed, and Sarah, exhausted but at last at peace, readied herself for bed. She knew she still had quite a road ahead of her; there was so much about Paraguay and her past that she hadn't really dealt with. She made a promise to herself that she would start counseling as soon as possible. Now, she knew her life was worth fighting for.

As she slipped between her sheets and closed her eyes, her thoughts touched once again on those she knew she'd helped. Bud, and by extension, Mikey and Harriet. Her godsons existed in part because she did. Harm…he had Mattie and his career because she'd once stopped him from committing a terrible crime. Yes, the person he would have killed was despicable, but in the end, his death wouldn't have brought Diane Schonke back. It only would have destroyed Harm.

Mac drifted off and a few minutes later, she smiled in her sleep. Her guardian angel had sent her a final gift…

* * *

Days earlier and halfway across the country, Matthew O'Hara stood in the prison woodshop, carving his niece's name into an exquisite jewelry box. Matthew knew it wouldn't make it to her before Christmas, but he'd tried, and as he put the final touches on what he'd lovingly made for her, he smiled, pleased with his work. His beautiful niece deserved so much more than just this small jewelry box, but it had been made with love and he hoped she'd be able to feel his love for her as she ran her hand over the smooth wood. He picked up the box and pressed a kiss to it.

"I love you, baby girl."

* * *

Little AJ Roberts knelt by his bed, his parents on either side of him as he said his prayers. The little boy thanked God for baby Jesus, for his baby brother, even if he was annoying sometimes, his Uncle Harm who was going to take him up in his plane someday, his mommy and daddy and Grandpa Bud and his Grandpa and Grandma Simms. He said a special prayer for his Auntie Mac. She'd been sad lately and he wanted to know how much he loved her, and both his parents smiled at their kind and loving little boy. "We love Auntie Mac too, AJ," they told him, "very, very much."

* * *

Harmon Rabb, Jr stretched out on his couch, holding a picture of him and Mac with their godson. He ran a fingertip over her beautiful face, wondering at how, after the way he'd treated her, she'd still come through for him at Mattie's hearing and with Mattie's father. It killed him to know she was with Webb, but no matter what, he still loved her. He wanted her to be happy above all else, and if it was with the spook, so be it. It was time he let go of the anger and hurt from the past year, and he wished he was brave enough to let her know that. He touched her picture again, startled when he heard Mattie's voice by his ear.

"She's pretty, isn't she?"

Harm looked over at his new "daughter" and smiled sadly. "Yes, she is. She's beautiful."

Mattie frowned at him. "If you love her, why don't you tell her?"

Harm's eyes widened. _Where did that come from?_

"Come on, Harm. I saw it. I saw how you looked at her in court, at the church, and at the Wall."

Harm was amazed. He thought he'd hidden it so well…

"It was obvious, Harm." _So much for hiding it._

"She's with someone else." He felt a stab of pain go through his heart.

"So, tell her anyway." Harm raised an eyebrow at his young charge. "She isn't married yet, is she?"

"No, she isn't."

"Then tell her you love her."

Mattie made it sound so easy, but then maybe it was…maybe all he needed to do was walk up to her and say it.

 _I love you, Mac._

* * *

Loren smiled to herself as she watched Sarah from above. It was time she knew she was loved, and even though Sarah would believe she'd just been having a beautiful dream, Loren took pleasure in showing her what was really going on with those she'd loved and saved. Sarah needed to know that love was returned _._ Loren drew back from the edge of heaven, sending one last thought to the sleeping woman.

 _Merry Christmas, Sarah_

* * *

 _End Chapter 16_

* * *

 _A/N 2: Just one or two more to go! And a public service announcement: don't flush pills. Take them to a pharmacy or the like to be destroyed. But flushing was the easiest way for Sarah to rid herself of hers…_


	17. Merry Christmas

_A/N: So, here is 17. There will be just one or two more chapters (I had originally intended for this chapter to have more in it, but it became clear that it would have been too much). I have had fun writing it, even if most of the chapters were depressing! I hope you all have enjoyed this and thank you again for all the wonderful reviews._

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 17: Merry Christmas**

Mac rolled over in bed and stretched like a cat. For a moment she was disoriented; it had been so long since she'd had a restful slumber and even longer since she hadn't awoken with soul-crushing despair. She frowned as she sat up, wondering what was different, wondering at the images that began to dance across her mind.

 _Loren…_

 _An angel…_

 _A glimpse of a world without her in it…_

 _A bottle of vodka and a mix of pills…_

The images were clear, but perhaps it had all been a dream, and the bottles of vodka and pills were still sitting in her freezer and cupboard. A darker part wondered if she'd actually drunk the lethal cocktail and was hallucinating. Yes, it was utterly ridiculous, the urge to pinch herself to prove she was here and awake, but pinch herself she did, experiencing a flood of relief when it actually hurt.

 _But, didn't you_ want _to die?_ her inner voice taunted her.

She _had_ been ready…so ready…the pills had been set out, the vodka poured…she could see it all in her mind's eye… _so what stopped you?_

Now rather befuddled, Mac jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to her kitchen. She opened the cupboard across from the refrigerator and saw that all that sat in there was a nearly full bottle of ibuprofen that she'd purchased well over a year ago. She moved to the freezer, finding only two half-empty ice trays and a frozen dinner. Just to be sure, she pulled open the refrigerator, which held only a brick of moldy cheese, three bottles of diet cola, and a carton of eggs that were at least fairly fresh.

Musing that she'd better go shopping tomorrow, she leaned back against her counter, still perplexed about her change of heart. She remembered looking in the refrigerator a few days ago, taking stock of the nearly empty shelves, thinking despondently that at least they wouldn't have a fridge full of rotten food to clean out after they found her. And now here she was, planning a shopping trip.

 _It was so confusing…_

Because for some reason, the image of Loren Singer kept interrupting her thoughts. She didn't really want to dwell on the absurdity of that, so she shook herself and decided to check the freezer one more time for that elusive bottle of vodka. Without thinking much about it, she reached forward and grasped the handle, gripping it harder when the door stuck…

And found herself yelping in pain. She looked down at her bandaged hand, feeling it throb, seeing a spot of blood show through the gauze wrapped around it.

It all hit her then, her mind filling with brilliant, clear images of the night before…

She saw herself raising the glass of vodka to her lips. She'd been about to taste the icy cold drink, when a familiar voice startled her…

Loren Singer…dead for months…in her kitchen…the glass slipping from her grip, shattering when it hit the floor, feeling the world tilt as her vision darkened…finally waking on her couch, her hand bandaged, with Loren sitting across from her claiming to be an angel…

She remembered Bud, separated from the navy, his brother a delinquent…

Her uncle's grave where he was laid to rest after being executed for treason.

Last of all, she remembered Harm…aged and bitter, his life over, his personal demons having destroyed him…

But because Sarah MacKenzie hadn't died in a drunken haze of broken glass and metal at the age of eighteen, none of that had happened.

In a minute, Mac was laughing and crying all at once. She was here, alive, all because of the unlikeliest of angels. "Thank you, Loren," she whispered. She could have sworn she'd heard a quiet 'You're welcome, Sarah'.

Mac gave herself only a few moments before she pulled herself back together. She suddenly had so much to do! She needed to call Harriet and see if her invitation for Christmas dinner still stood. There was a pie to bake, presents to gather…the list grew.

But there was one thing Mac wanted to do before anything else…she needed to hear Harm's voice, hear that he was okay. So, before she lost her nerve, she picked up her phone and dialed the familiar but lately unused number. It rang a few times, and tears sprang into her eyes when he finally picked up with an efficient, "Rabb."

"H-Harm?"

"Mac?"

"Yeah…hey..." She rolled her eyes at her less than brilliant conversation skills, embarrassed when she couldn't hide her sniffle.

"Mac, are you okay?" It warmed her heart to hear the concern in his voice.

"Y-yeah," she answered with a watery chuckle. "I'm okay. I just wanted to see how your night with Mattie went."

"Oh." Harm sounded surprised. "It was fine. Great, actually." She heard the smile in his voice.

"I'm glad. I'm—I'm so happy for you, Harm." And she was. Ecstatic, really. For many reasons.

"Well, I have you to thank for it, Mac." His tone was warm, and his voice was like velvet.

"You are most welcome." She swallowed the happy lump in her throat, taking a deep breath before she spoke again. "Well, I'll let you get back to Mattie. I just wanted to check in."

"Uh, thank you, Mac." There was a moment of silence. "Mac?"

"Yes?"

He didn't answer right away, and she wondered what was going through his mind. "Harm?"

"Um, uh, nothing. Merry Christmas, Sarah."

The sound of her given name on his lips nearly caused her tears spill over again, but she choked them back. "M-Merry Christmas, Harm." And then she hung up.

 _See you soon,_ she whispered into the air.

* * *

Mac was just about to put her pie in the oven when a knock sounded at her door. She was surprised; she certainly wasn't expecting anyone. She had the fleeting thought that it might be Clay, but she rather hoped not; despite what everyone thought, she had never been involved with him in the romantic sense though _he_ would have welcomed that.

She walked briskly to her door and checked the peephole, absolutely stunned by who was waiting there on the other side.

"Harm!" she grinned as she pulled open the door. "Come in! Where's Mattie?" she asked, surprised when she didn't see the teenager behind him.

"Hey, Mac. Can I come in?" Harm looked awkward and uncomfortable, and it struck her then that save for his ill-fated visit to ask for her help with Mattie, he hadn't been to her apartment since before he'd spent his month in the brig, accused of Singer's murder.

"Of course, Harm," she replied, concern growing when he still remained outside her door despite now telling him twice to enter. Finally, she took him by the arm and pulled him bodily inside. "What's up?"

He didn't answer, didn't move; he only stood there, studying her with an intenseness that made her blush. His hand eventually came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin underneath her eye and she couldn't help leaning into him. How long had it been since he'd touched her, was gentle with her? How long since she'd been gentle with _him?_

"Mattie?" she prodded, hyperaware of his continued touch.

His thumb passed under her eye again as he answered her almost absently. "Fine. She's fine. I dropped her off early at Bud and Harriet's."

Mac nodded against him, wondering at this impromptu visit of his. She longed to throw her arms around him and tell him how glad she was that he was in her life, but something in his posture held her back.

"Harm?" she questioned, and he abruptly dropped his hand as he looked down at his feet. She saw him swallow a couple of times, and then he looked back up at her, his eyes red-rimmed.

"Mac…I, uh, haven't been…treating you…very well, have I…"

Mac blinked at Harm for a long moment. Slowly, she shook her head back and forth, stunned into absolute honesty by the question. It killed her to see the pained expression on his face. He swallowed again as his eyes took on a tell-tale glassy sheen.

"I'm sorry." Those simple words were spoken in a ragged whisper, his voice breaking at the end, and there was no mistaking his fierce sincerity.

Mac swallowed a few times herself, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. She couldn't stop the tears that spilled over her cheeks, and she only cried harder when she felt Harm's warm hand on her, his thumb swiping the tears away.

"It's okay, Harm…I'm sorry too." She leaned into him and nearly stumbled when he abruptly took his hand away, the harshness in his voice startled her when he spoke again.

" _No,_ Mac. No! You have nothing to be sorry for! _Nothing!"_ His head turned away, his posture deflating. "Nothing…" he whispered

Mac looked at him askance. _Nothing, Harm? I'm the one who started this. Paraguay…not finding a way to see you in the brig…_

 _But then, if you had told me what you were thinking with Singer…_

But if she was going to rehash all the moments in their relationship that led them to this point, their issues with communication started long before that…

 _Their time on the bench…her running off to the_ Guadalcanal _, then giving him an ultimatum there, running off before he'd even had time to answer._

She should have waited. She should have known that whatever his answer was going to be, he'd need time to think it out before he'd be able to articulate it.

And then it seemed like outside forces conspired against them as well…namely Rene's father dying just as she and Harm were going to maybe, just maybe, figure things out. Of course, that was when she'd run…

So many missteps, miscommunications…

 _Sydney…not finding the words to tell him how you felt before he left to fly, not supporting him in his need to either close that chapter in his life or soar with it. Treating him like a leper when he returned, then springing all of that on him in Sydney._

No, she was just as at fault, perhaps even more so, for the status of their relationship.

"Harm, I—"

"No, Mac…I know…I know you're sorry…but I just can hear that right now."

 _What?_ "Why not, Harm?"

"I, I just…my god, Mac! The things I've said to you—the other night when I asked for help with Mattie…saying those things about your—your addiction…in front of…everyone…Mac, whatever you think you've done to me, what I've done is a thousand times worse." Harm hung his head, and it tore at her heart.

"Harm, no." She was _not_ going to let him fall on his sword and take all the blame here.

But Harm clearly had other ideas.

"No, Mac…don't." He squared his shoulders. "Look, I should go…Mattie…you…I'm sure you have plans. Webb's probably waiting…" Harm abruptly turned around and went for her door, paused, then looked back at her over his shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Mac." He reached for the knob, but Mac was determined not to let him go that easily.

"Harm, wait!" He paused, but then shook his head again and pulled open the door.

"Harmon Rabb!" she called in her best DI voice. He whirled around and the door shut behind him with a thud.

"What?" He had that deer in the headlights look about him.

"Get back in here and talk to me. Don't—don't walk out on me this time." Her voice broke a little as she remembered once again the last time he was here, when he'd stormed out in anger. The two stared at each other for a minute, and when Mac was convinced he wasn't going to just bolt again, she motioned him toward her living room. "Harm, please…go sit down. I need to put something in the oven and then we'll talk, okay? Please?" Harm's expression was unreadable, but at last he nodded and turned toward her couch.

Mac nodded to herself, relieved, and then quickly went to put her pie in the oven. On her way to the kitchen, she happened to look down and noticed an obvious blood trail in the carpet. She lifted her bandaged hand up in front of her face and scowled. She wished she would have noticed that last night; it was going to be harder to clean up now. But, then again, she'd often thought about putting wood floors down in the place. Maybe now that she was sticking around, she'd finally do it. She smiled to herself, excited at the prospect of looking forward to something once again.

Sliding her pie into her oven, Mac consulted her inner clock. The pie would take a little over an hour to bake and would then need time to cool a bit. Harriet said dinner was at 1300, so she figured the pie would be perfect by dessert. Mac closed the oven door and laughed at herself when she realized she had started singing some cheerful Christmas carol. It had been a long time since she'd burst out into song out of sheer happiness or had even sung along with the radio. She hummed the same tune as she set the timer on the stove, not wanting to have to think about it while she spoke to Harm. They had a lot to go through, and the first thing she wanted to discuss with him was Webb. More specifically, the _absence_ of Webb in her life.

Mac decided to make them some hot chocolate before she went back to Harm, thinking that the rich drink would be comforting as they hashed a few things out. She reached up into the cupboard for the mugs and set them down, then turned to get the mix from her pantry…and yelped when she realized Harm had materialized at her side without her knowing it.

"Goodness, Harm! You startled me!" She raised her eyes to his, expecting to see an apology or amusement in them. Instead, she found herself staring into darkened, stormy-grey eyes, hardened like stone. "Harm, what—"

"What's this, Mac?" He raised his arm in front of her.

"What?"

"This. What is it?" Utterly confused, not understanding the apparent fury in his voice, she could only shrug and shake her head.

"I don't—"

"Don't lie to me, Mac!" he shouted. "What. Is. _This?!"_ Harm's hand was directly in front of her face now, and Mac finally saw what had so vexed him.

There, clutched in his white-knuckled fist, was her suicide note.

* * *

 _End Chapter 17_


	18. A Great Gift

_A/N: At last, an update. This one was hard to write for some reason, and now here it is at 3:30 in the morning…so, if I've spouted gibberish…I'll fix it when I'm more awake._

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 18: A Great Gift**

"Answer me, Mac!" Harm continued to wave Mac's note in front of her face.

"Harm…it's not what you think." She tried to placate him, her heart pounding. She could tell Harm wasn't buying it.

"Then what is it, Mac, huh? Because it sure sounds like it is!" He loosened his hold on the sheet of paper in his hand, smoothed it out, and began to read.

" _I'm so tired. I can't do this anymore. It's too hard and I'm so, so sorry. Mac."_

"Harm…it…it's not…I didn't mean it…"

Mac gasped when Harm's hand shot out to grab her arm. He pulled her closer, leaning down so his face was only inches from hers. "You didn't mean it? Then tell me why I found it next to your will. Your insurance and bank information? My god, Mac! If I hadn't come here when I did, would you have done it?"

Harm didn't wait for her to answer before he let go of her. He moved frantically around the kitchen, opening the cupboards and pulling open the refrigerator and freezer doors.

"What are you doing, Harm? Harm!" She was desperate to explain herself, but Harm wasn't having it.

"Were you going to use pills? Overdose?" Mac shook her head, despite that being exactly how she had planned on ending it.

"Then what? Oh my god…" Suddenly Harm grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along with him. He let go of her in the living room and went first to her desk, yanking open drawer after drawer and rifling through it. He slammed the last drawer closed and stood up, eyes blazing. "Where is it?" He came around the desk to loom over her again. "Where. _Is._ It?!"

"Where's what, Harm? If you would just listen to me…"

He wouldn't though, and the next thing she knew he was holding up one finger in front of her face to shush her. He then grabbed her hand and dragged her to her bedroom, where he proceeded to yank open the top drawer of her nightstand. He reached in and pulled out her sidearm, promptly unloading it before he slipped it into the waistband of his pants at the small of his back.

Mac watched all of this in shock. Harm was on a rampage, but if he'd just take a moment and listen to her!

 _What, you think he'll believe your story about Loren Singer as your guardian angel? Tell him that and he'll really think you're crazy._

Harm startled her again when he stepped up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Where is it? Your other gun. I know you have one. Where the hell is it, Mac?!"

Mac looked up into the wild eyes of her partner. She had no idea how she was going to explain this or at least get him to calm down. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the next thing she knew he was shaking her and shouting in her face again.

" _Goddammit,_ Mac! What the hell were you thinking? Where the _fuck_ is your other _gun?!"_

"Harm, stop it." She tried to remain calm. She did see the fear underneath the fury in his eyes, knew it was her fault, but _dammit,_ he needed to _stop_ this.

Harm abruptly let go of her and started pacing in front of her. "I will not stop it, Mac! How could you even _think_ of doing something like this? Don't you know that I…that I…" He suddenly whirled around and rushed out of her bedroom. She followed him as he crossed her living room and headed toward her door.

 _What, he's leaving now?_ No, he wasn't leaving…currently he was sliding his arm behind the antique wardrobe that stood against the wall by her front door. He felt around, then pulled out her second weapon. He knew her well; of course, she had it concealed where she could conveniently access it should something seem amiss as she entered her home. Harm unloaded this gun as well, then slid it into the pocket of his jacket.

"What else, Mac?" he hissed as he turned back toward her.

"Harm…I don't know what you…there's nothing…"

"Don't give me that, Mac. You know damn well what I mean. What else could you use, huh? Huh?" Harm stepped forward again, grasping at her upper arms and shaking her once more, only this time he kept shouting at her, his words coming fast and often incomprehensible. Mac was crying at this point, and if she would have looked up at him, she would have seen that Harm was as well.

Finally, Mac screamed back. "Stop it, Harm! Stop yelling at me! Just stop! Just _stop…"_ She broke down into sobs, never knowing the exact moment when Harm gathered her in his arms and held her close, whispering apologies into her hair. She barely registered it when he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa, sitting down with her in his lap, but eventually she felt the soft leather of his jacket underneath her cheek. The beat of his heart was quick underneath her palm and the shuddering of his breaths told her he was overcome with emotion as well.

For several long minutes, they sat there holding each other, not speaking, until Harm's low voice whispered against her ear.

"Were you really going to do it?"

Mac sighed against him, wanting to deny it, but she knew he would see through her. "Yes." Harm's breath caught and he held her tighter.

"How?"

"Vodka and sleeping pills." She closed her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks.

"When?"

"Last night."

"But you didn't."

"No."

Harm dropped a kiss on her forehead as a tremor went through him. "Thank you, God," he said reverently as he kissed her head again. Mac lifted her hand from his heart and ran it gently down his face, feeling the remnants of his tears along her path. His hand caught hers before she could pull it away and he pressed a kiss to her palm, making her smile softly. Without thinking consciously about, she snuggled further into him. His answer was to tighten his hold, and for a moment, Mac just enjoyed the quiet and his surrounding warmth.

She knew it couldn't last, however, and a few minutes later she felt Harm tense around her. "Harm?" she asked tentatively, certain she didn't have adequate answers to any questions he might pose. "What is it?"

His chest lifted underneath her as he took in a slow, deep breath. "How close?"

"What?"

"How close were you to…to…doing...it?" His words were hesitant, as if he truly didn't want to know the answer, but Mac knew him well. He needed the answer and wouldn't stop asking until he got it, so the most expedient thing to do would be to answer with total honesty.

"I had the first glass of vodka poured and the pill bottles were opened. I was about to take the first sip." She closed her eyes as she remembered the chill of the glass in her hand and the subtle yet welcoming scent of the liquid in it as she raised it to her lips.

"What, ah, stopped you?"

 _What, indeed._ She wasn't ready to tell him about Loren, didn't know if she'd ever be comfortable sharing that, so she gave him the only semi-accurate answer she could think of.

"I got the answer to a prayer I didn't know I was praying instead of the one I was saying in my mind."

"And that was?"

Mac turned her face into his neck, fighting back more tears. "That I wouldn't throw everything up before it had a chance to work."

"Oh, _Mac…"_ Harm choked out and suddenly they were sobbing in each other's arms again, in devastation at what had almost been lost, relief at what hadn't.

* * *

Mac honestly couldn't have said how long they sat there clinging to each other, but she gradually became aware of Harm running his palm up and down her back in slow, soothing strokes. She suspected it was soothing to him as well, and she would have happily let him continue the rest of the day. She loved the feel of being held against his solid body, loved his gentleness which would have been squandered had she not stopped him from killing Holbarth all those years ago. She let herself indulge in his touch for five more minutes before she started to pull away.

Harm wouldn't let her.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to—"

"Get ready for Webb?" Harm's tone was a study in neutrality.

"Harm—"

"I'm sorry, Mac. That's none of my business." Expecting him to let go of her after that, she was surprised when his hold on her tightened. As comforting as it was to sit here with him, she did need to get herself ready to go to Bud and Harriet's, and he needed to get back there to Mattie. But first, she needed to clarify her relationship with Clayton Webb.

"Harm, about Webb…"

"No, Mac…it really is none of my business…I know I've been a…a jealous prick about him, but…"

Mac leaned away from him, stunned at his admission of jealousy. The sad thing was, he'd never had any reason to be jealous, but he would never believe her when she said Webb was just a friend. That had to change.

"Harm, there is no Webb. He and I—we really are just friends. He wanted…wants more, but I…I don't feel that way for him and he knows that." Whether Webb accepted that or not, Mac didn't know, but she decided that was his problem. As for Harm, he was just staring at her, relief and skepticism warring in his storm-grey eyes. Mac started to squirm under his gaze, nervous with his silence. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. "Harm, say something."

"I—well, um, what about last night?"

Mac had to look away from his penetrating gaze before she answered. "I lied."

"Why?"

"Because I knew if I mentioned Webb, you'd let me go so I could go…could go…"

"Oh."

"I'm sorry."

Harm nodded but remained silent, though she sensed he had more questions. "Harm?" she questioned, when the silence grew too heavy. He swallowed audibly before he answered, and when he did, the single word was full of pain.

" _Why?"_

"I just told you…oh, you want to know why I was going to…to kill myself." Harm closed his eyes and nodded.

"Oh, Harm…life has always been hard, ever since I was a little girl, and it finally became too much. And then, somewhere in this last year I came to the conclusion that everyone would be better off without me."

"No, Mac…" Mac reached up and gently pressed her fingers to his lips.

"I know, Harm. But that's how it felt. And I was simply exhausted with it all. The struggles. The guilt. The loneliness. I just wanted it to end. Nothing I had done up to this point seem to matter or make a difference so why bother going on? I decided that my final act would be to help you with Mattie…and them maybe my existence wouldn't be a complete waste.

"Harm, I know I need help, and I promise you, I will call tomorrow to get an appointment with a counselor. I haven't dealt with Paraguay, and I know I haven't dealt with a lot of what happened when I was a kid. It's time to change that."

Mac felt Harm nod, and then they lapsed into silence for several moments. She knew he still had more questions, wondered why she had ultimately changed her mind, and probably wondered if she'd eventually go through with it. She wouldn't; the memory of and alternate timeline with Harm as a bitter felon intent on hurting her was enough to remind her that her life had made a difference. Of course, she couldn't exactly tell Harm that. Not without sounding unstable, anyway.

The sound of the oven timer broke her out of her thoughts. "Harm—I need to go check on my pie. And you need to get back to Mattie. I'll see you at Bud and Harriet's." She started to scoot off his lap, but he caught her once more.

"I'm not leaving you, Mac. If you're going to the Roberts', you're going with me."

Mac smiled inwardly at Harm's concerned decree. He'd be hovering over her a while, she was sure, and it warmed her as much as it exasperated her. Given the reason he was so worried, however, she knew she would probably need to just go along with it. She could at least indulge him this once.

"Okay, Harm." He was obviously relieved as he finally let her stand up, then slowly stood up himself. Mac watched as he stretched out the kinks from having her on his lap for a good hour. She smiled as he groaned a bit, then touched his shoulder to get his attention." Let me get my pie out of the oven and we can go." He nodded and she started to turn to walk away, but he caught her arm.

"Mac?"

"Yes?"

"You scared the hell out of me, Marine."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"If I lost you…"

"You won't."

Harm looked down for a moment, then raised his eyes back to hers. "Promise me, Mac. If you ever feel that way again…you'll come to me? Please?"

She studied him a moment, this flyboy of hers, then softly smiled. "I will, Harm. I promise." She made to walk away, but once again, he called her back.

"Mac…I think I should get some help too. You're not the only one who hasn't dealt with things."

 _No, I suppose not…we're both so stubborn._ His time in the brig had to have been traumatic, and then there was Paraguay and his time in the CIA. "I think that's great, Harm." He flashed a rather subdued grin at her. This time he did allow her to walk away, but she only made it halfway to the kitchen before he called her name again.

Mac turned around to see Harm gazing at her intently. "Yes, Harm?"

"I just…um…you know I love you, right?"

Mac stared at Harm in shock as a blush crept up his cheeks. "Harm…I—"

"I just wanted you to know that."

"Okay." Mac turned and walked into the kitchen. Her hands were shaking as she removed her pie from the oven and set it on the counter. She closed the oven door and turned it off, then just stood there staring at the floor…and it finally hit her what Harm had said…

 _Oh my god…and I just said, 'Okay'?! What the hell is wrong with me?_ Suddenly she was running back into the living room, where Harm still awkwardly stood with his hands in his pockets. "Harm!" she cried. He looked up, startled, as she rushed over and threw her arms around him.

"I love you too." She grinned up at him, happy, no, _elated,_ to have her best friend back.

And elated just to be alive.

* * *

 _End Chapter 18_


	19. Isn't it Wonderful

_A/N: Well, here it is, the final chapter…tell me, why is it once again 0330 and I'm up, writing?!_

 **An Unlikely Angel**

 **Chapter 19: Isn't it Wonderful**

"You're hovering again, Harm." Mac said as she looked up from the pie she was slicing. She grinned when he blushed and merely shrugging as he walked into the kitchen.

"I can't help it, Mac."

Mac set down her knife and stepped around the Roberts' kitchen island. She cupped his face in her hands and when she was sure he was focused completely on her, she leaned up and lightly kissed his lips. "I know. And I do appreciate it, but I'm okay. I'll be okay." She ran her thumbs over his cheeks, then dropped her hands. "You can't be with me all the time, you know. And you have Mattie now. You need to focus on her." She stepped away from him, yelping a little when his arms suddenly went around her. "Harm!" she giggled, and he held her tighter.

"I like that sound, Mac…I haven't heard you laugh in a long time."

Mac returned his embrace. "That's because I haven't laughed in a long time." He looked down at her sympathetically as she pushed lightly at his chest. "Now, let me go so I can cut this pie."

Harm gave her a final squeeze and released her, then followed her around the island. "I can't believe you baked, Mac."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I can bake, Harm. I can cook too for that matter. I've made this pie nearly every year since I was seven. And I was the one who made Christmas dinner at our house from the time I was twelve." She went back to her task, but she soon became conscious of Harm's eyes on her. "What?" she asked him when she met his thoughtful gaze.

"But you always said you bought the pie at some grocery store in Georgetown."

It was Mac's turn to blush. "I, uh, um, I lied."

"Why?"

Mac shrugged. "It's a long story that probably doesn't make any sense, but I just didn't want anybody to know. I didn't want anybody to be forced to compliment it just because I made it."

Harm's eyes widened. "You know how good that pie is, don't you?"

"Um…" Mac focused her gaze on her hands as they went back to cutting the pie. "I've, uh, actually never tasted it."

" _What?_ Mac, I've seen you eat pumpkin pie before…it's not as if you don't like it, and let me tell you, your pie is better than any of those other ones."

Mac shrugged again. "I told you it didn't make any sense." She started to set out the slices of pie onto dessert plates.

Harm picked up one of the dishes along with a fork and took a bite. "God, Mac, I think this is your best one yet." He grabbed another bite and then held the fork in front of her. "Come on, Mac. Taste it. You can do it."

Mac started to shake her head, but then Harm said her name. "Just try it, Sarah," he said in a soft, intimate voice, and Mac found herself opening her mouth for him to feed her.

As the first taste of the pie exploded on her tongue her eyes rose to Harm's. "It's good, isn't it?" he said, flyboy grin in place.

"Oh my goodness, Harm…it's amazing."

"Told you," Harm said, his expression smug. He offered Mac another bite, and she happily accepted it, and then Harm proceeded to feed her the rest. Of course, she was perfectly capable of feeding herself, but there was something incredibly sweet about Harm's actions, and she let herself just enjoy it.

Mac couldn't really explain why tasting her pie was such a big step, nor could she explain why she'd avoided it for so long, but she did know she'd managed to exorcise some demon from her childhood. There were still many more to be dealt with, but it was a start, and Mac felt lighter for it. She gave Harm another hug, and together they gathered up the remaining slices and left the kitchen.

* * *

"Hey, Mac…that year you brought me dinner on Christmas…you made all of it, didn't you?" Harm asked a while later. The two were standing next to the Christmas tree drinking hot chocolate as they watched Mattie holding baby Jimmy. Little AJ played with his new toys at her feet, and it warmed Mac's heart.

"Yeah, I did," she answered, ducking her head in embarrassment.

"Damn, Mac…why didn't you ever say anything?" He took her now empty mug from her hand and set it next to his on an end table.

"I don't know…probably the same reason I didn't tell you about the pie." She chuckled ruefully. "It seems silly now."

Harm's arm went about her shoulders. "Nah." He leaned over and kissed the crown of her head, letting his cheek rest against her hair for a moment. She supposed Harriet was going to be talking Bud's ear off later about these displays of affection toward her from Harm, but she found she didn't really care. She had her best friend again, and it was the best Christmas gift she could have ever hoped for.

"Mattie looks like she's having a good time." Harm spoke softly in her ear, breaking the warm silence that had settled around them.

"She does." She glanced back over to where Mattie now had AJ giggling, a smile forming on her face. But then she grew serious. "Harm?"

"Yeah, Mac?"

"I meant everything I said in that courtroom." She felt him give her shoulders an extra squeeze.

"Did I ever thank you for that?"

Mac's arm went about Harm's waist. "Yes, you did Harm. More than once."

"Well, thank you again, anyway, Mac."

"You're welcome."

"Life's going to change, Mac," Harm said, his eyes on the children across the room. "Mattie's here now, and—"

"And you need to spend your time with her now. I understand," she hastened to reassure him. "I'll be okay."

Harm looked at her in surprise. "No, Mac…I want you to be a part of this too. Mattie needs a strong female role model, and I was hoping you'd take the job. That is, if you can put up with me too…I want to be in your life again, Mac. I've watched from the outside too long, and I—I almost lost you. Never again, Mac. _Never."_ He spoke adamantly, and Mac found herself nodding. She wanted him back in her life too, and she would be honored to be a role model for Mattie. She told him as much, and as she remembered the words he'd just used, she knew she needed to tell him something else.

"Harm, um, that never in Paraguay? I didn't mean it."

Harm's expression went from apprehensive to elation in less than a second.

"You don't know how happy I am to hear that, Sarah."

* * *

"Here, let me get that for you, Mac." Harm took her coat from her hands and helped her into it, placing a kiss on the back of her head before he stepped away from her.

It had been a wonderful day. Mac was able to reconnect with her friends and seeing Bud interact with his wife and his children was all the more poignant given what his life could have been like, _would_ have been like if she'd died when she was eighteen. Mikey had made an appearance as well, and it was such a relief to see him once again as the clean-cut future officer he was. Later tonight she would call her Uncle Matt and it was sure to be an emotional conversation—they always were on Christmas, but now that she'd seen what would have befallen him, she knew she would have a hard time keeping her tears in check.

Best of all, though, was watching Harm interact with their godchildren and his new ward. He was going to make a wonderful father, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself feel hope that their baby deal might actually come true.

And to think, she had Loren Singer to thank for it. It seemed so unbelievable, but Mac knew with every fiber in her being that last night had really happened. She'd almost told Harm about it earlier when he'd asked her what had happened to her hand, but she'd held back. Telling him that she'd cut her hand because she'd fainted at the sight of their dead former colleague still didn't seem to be a good way to demonstrate her mental stability. She'd ended up telling him she'd dropped the glass with the vodka and then cut herself when she'd cleaned it up. It was definitely a more plausible explanation…

But perhaps one day, she would tell him…it was a fantastic story to be sure, but Loren Singer deserved to be honored…

"Hey, you okay?" Harm asked softly into her ear. She was quick to reassure him.

"Yeah, I'm good, Harm." She reached over and squeezed his hand.

"I'm going to have a hard time leaving you at your apartment tonight, Mac."

"It'll be okay, Harm. I promise. Now, I have to work tomorrow…and for the first time in a long time I'm looking forward to it, so we'd better get going, okay?" He flashed her a gentler version of his flyboy grin.

"Okay, Mac." Harm called out to Mattie, who was tickling little AJ, and Mac found herself laughing along with the little boy. Mattie sat AJ up, and Mac could see her godson start to pout when Mattie told him she had to leave. She assured him she'd see him again soon, gave him a hug, then went to retrieve her coat while Harm and Mac waited alone by the door.

The door where mistletoe always hung…

Mac did her best to avoid looking for it, but eventually, Harm's gaze drifted upward, his eyes lighting up when he saw what she suspected was there.

"Hey, look, Mac," he said as he pointed above his head. Mac looked up, grinning when she saw the expected and familiar sprig of mistletoe hung above the front door. As usual, it was attached to two little bells, and Mac couldn't help remembering the last two Christmases when they'd kissed under the Christmas greenery. When she lowered her eyes to Harm's, she could see he wanted to continue with the tradition they'd established. His eyes begged for permission, and she was just about to nod when little AJ barreled into her. "Auntie Mac!"

"Hey, little man!" she laughed as she scooped him up in her arms. "Did you have a good Christmas?" The little boy nodded vigorously, grinning from ear to ear. "Did you like your presents?" Another happy nod.

"I love my plane from Unca Harm, and I love my game from you Auntie Mac!"

"I'm glad, sweetie." She hugged him close and felt herself choking up. She could have missed all of this.

 _Thank you, thank you, Loren._

And then, from above their heads, came an answering jingle of the wo little bells. They all looked up in surprise at the mistletoe, watching as the bells gave another shake.

"Look, Auntie Mac!" crowed AJ. "Mommy says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings!"

Mac looked up at the bells again, then looked down at the smiling face of her beloved godson. "That's right. That's right" _Atta girl, Loren…_

* * *

"Thank you, Sarah," I say softly as I turn away from the Christmas scene below me. It looks like Sarah is going to be just fine, and I have to admit, I'm quite pleased with myself.

I'm also quite pleased with my new bling. My freshly earned wings unfurl around me, beautifully gold-tipped, and once again I just have to pause and admire them.

"They are quite lovely, aren't they, Loren?" Joseph comes up by my side and I flash him a smile.

"Yeah. You know, I think they look even better than Steven's!" Steven and I never got to have a healthy sibling rivalry when we were alive, but now that we're both here, I see no reason why we can't have one now. Joseph only rolls his eyes, but I'm sure he's amused.

"They certainly are quite striking, my dear child." Joseph looks over the edge of heaven while the images of the Boy Scout and Sarah walking to an SUV with a young girl by their side still play for us. "You did well, dear Loren."

I'm about to thank him when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn to see Joe standing by me, and my smile fades. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, and then he speaks.

"Loren…I know what you think of me, and I don't blame you…but I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for saving my Sarah." He turns away and I surprise myself by reaching for his arm.

"You're welcome, Joe. I wish I had known your daughter better when I was alive, but I'm glad I was here when she needed me." That is a true statement. Sure, it wasn't in my plan to die so young, but I'm grateful I was in a position to help Sarah. Yes, I still want to smack her Boy Scout, but I can't say I'm not happy that they're finally going to get it right with each other.

"Loren?" Joseph's call breaks me out of my little reverie, and I bring my attention back to my favorite archangel. Okay, I still think Michael is smoking hot, but Joseph is a lot nicer.

"Oh, Loren…" Joseph shakes his head at me.

Apparently earning one's wings does not make one's thoughts unreadable.

"Hey, I did you were nicer," I defended myself.

"And I appreciate that…but 'smoking hot' is probably not the best way to describe those of us angels still here." He raises his eyebrow at me and I try to make myself look properly repentant, but I'm sure I fail miserably. I mean, one can't expect me to change completely just because I now come with feathers.

Joseph gives me a knowing look which I return with the most innocent of gazes. "What did you need, Joseph?"

"Need? Why, I need nothing, but I do have someone I want to introduce to you."

Suddenly I feel a strange tingle of anticipation and…is that _fear?_ I watch Joseph motion to someone behind me and I turn around. It's my brother, and standing next to him is…

" _Emma!"_

I see my daughter as an infant, a child, even an adult all at once. She's beautiful and I can't help the tears that fall from my eyes. I want to hold my arms out to her, but I'm afraid—afraid of what she'll think of me since it's my fault she never got the chance to live.

I needn't have worried though. My little girl smiles up at me and wraps her arms around my waist, and I let my wings fold around her. "Hi, mommy!" she calls, and my tears fall faster.

"Hi, baby. I'm-I'm so sorry…"

"No, Mommy…it's really great here. I just missed you!"

"I missed you too, Emma. I—I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy."

I think I've discovered something even better than earning my wings…

* * *

 _Epilogue_

"It's just up here a little ways, Harm." I turn to my husband of nearly two years who looks mildly annoyed…and worried, as usual.

I sigh, stopping and putting my hands on my hips. "I'm pregnant, Harm, not an invalid."

Harm rolls his eyes in irritation and I fight the urge to laugh at him. He's never gotten over the urge to hover, and since we found out we're expecting twins, he's gone into hovering overdrive.

After that fateful Christmas Eve, Harm and I took a few months to get our heads on straight before we officially got "together." We both needed a lot of therapy, even more than we had expected. So many things from our childhoods bubbled up to the surface, and it took some time to sort it all out. We even had some sessions together, which a few times ended in bitter arguments and accusations. But, since we knew how miserable life was when we were apart, we fairly quickly made up. We always talked it out, and after many missteps, we finally have figured out the key to successfully communicating with each other. Don't ask me to explain it though; what we do just works.

After a short engagement, we got married in his parents' backyard, overlooking the ocean. We started to work on the baby deal right away, and just as we were about to seek help, we got the news we were waiting for. I was pregnant. Due on Christmas Eve. We found out shortly afterwards that we were getting a two for one deal, and I must say, we're ecstatic.

"Tell me again why we're doing this?" Harm asks, and not for the first time, I want to smack him. With love and affection of course…

"Because, my dear husband, I want to show you something." He shakes his head in exasperation, but he motions me to lead on.

I'm not sure why I've decided that now is the time to tell him about my guardian angel. I suppose it has something to do with the babies, but it's still nothing I can put into words.

I did some research into Loren Singer's life after she'd saved mine. I'd never bothered to find out much about her when she was at JAG, her personality being so off-putting, but I felt I owed it to her after what she'd done for me. I discovered that she grew up in Virginia, not all that far from DC, and had a brother that died before she was even born. Her parents still live nearby, but I won't disturb them with my tale. It's so sad that they've lost both children; I can't imagine the grief and pain of all that. I noticed my hand has wandered down to rest on my expanding belly and I say a quick prayer that I will be able to protect these little miracles.

This is not the first time I've been to Loren and her little girl's grave. I went there on New Year's Day after she'd stopped me from ending it all, and I noticed that her grave seemed a bit neglected. I've come here periodically since then, cleaning things up around it, even talking to her sometimes. I like to think she can hear me—I dreamt about her once awhile back, and in my dream she had a pair of shimmering, gold-tipped wings. There was a little blond girl next to her and, since the child looked just like her, I assumed it was her little Emma. I think Loren wanted me to know she had done okay, and maybe she wanted to see that I had as well.

We finally come to Loren's row, and I can see Harm's eyes widen as he sees the Singer family name on multiple headstones. Loren and Emma's is the fifth one in, and I'm pleased to see someone else has put flowers down for her. She's buried next to her brother, who only lived to be sixteen, and I see someone has put flowers down for him as well.

I kneel down next to the headstone of Loren and "Baby Girl Singer," and trace the names with my finger. Harm kneels down next to me, and I can feel his questioning gaze. "I come here once in a while…ever since that Christmas when I—I—"

After all this time it's still hard to talk about those when I was so overcome with despair that I almost committed suicide. I feel Harm's arm go around my shoulders and gently squeeze, and I know he's doing it for his comfort just as much as mine. I take in a deep breath. "I don't think she gets a lot of visitors…"

"She wasn't exactly pleasant to be around."

"No, she wasn't, was she?" I reply, once again running my finger over her name. "But people can change."

"Uh, Mac," starts Harm, and I realize what I've just said. "I don't think she can at this point."

I want to laugh at that, remembering a conversation Loren and I had about her changing, but instead, I shrug and decide to change the subject slightly. "I wonder, sometimes, if she felt alone there at JAG. I know, she brought a lot of it on herself, but maybe if I or anyone had made an effort, things would have gone differently for her. I've asked myself was she lonely? Scared? Did she know she was having a little girl? Was she happy about it?" She and I didn't really have a chance to discuss her baby before she had to leave.

Harm shakes his head as he helps me to stand. "She wasn't…not at first anyway. When it got closer to her due date, I would wonder sometimes if she'd changed her mind, if it was a boy or girl…I was still convinced that the baby was Sergei's…I wondered if she'd let me see her…wondered what she'd named her."

"Emma." The name slips out before I have a chance to censor myself, but then again, it does open the door to discuss something else I'd like to discuss with him.

"What?"

"I'd like to name our daughter Emma."

"Emma Rabb…I like it." He nods thoughtfully, and I wait for it…Harm doesn't disappoint; seconds later, his expression changes to one of stunned surprise. "Wait… _our daughter?_ You know? We're having a girl?"

I nod, grinning at the excitement in his face, but I'm not done yet…

"And a boy, Harm. One of each!" At that Harm gathers me into his arms and spins me around before he sets me down and captures my lips in a happy kiss. Maybe a cemetery isn't exactly the place for such a display, and I should probably tell him that I still get dizzy fairly easily, but I can't because I'm just as elated as he is. Hoping he doesn't notice that I'm clinging to him just a little bit until the world stops spinning around me, I listen to his excited chatter.

"A girl and a boy, Mac. I hope she looks just like you. Your looks, my brains, right?"

"I thought _he_ was supposed to have my looks and your brains, Flyboy."

He grins, remembering our conversation on the front steps of JAG so long ago. "That could work too."

We stand there just holding each other a minute, until Harm leans away from me. "Hey, Mac…I thought we agreed it was going to be a surprise."

I blush and given him a sheepish grin. "I, um, called the doctor yesterday and made her tell me." I can tell Harm is trying to look stern, but he can't pull it off. Finally, he laughs and pulls me close again.

"Yeah, well, I was actually going to call her tomorrow…"

And then I'm laughing along with him. I'm rather glad we seem to be alone in this little cemetery.

Once we get ourselves back under control, I turn to once again face Loren's grave. Harm wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his big hands on my stomach. I feel the babies flutter in response, and I can't wait for the moment that he feels them too. "We should get you off your feet, Mac," he says, and I nod. As hard as it is for me to admit, I do tire rather easily. Of course, I love being held by my husband too, and I love the feel of his heart beating against my back. Maybe we'll just stand here a little longer…

"You never did tell me why you brought me here, Mac," he says after a little while.

"Sure, I did. I wanted to show you something."

"I've been in cemetery's before, Mac."

"Well," I concede. "Maybe it is more that I have something to tell you."

"You couldn't have told me about our son and daughter at home?" he asks, obviously a little confused.

Well, I could have told him there…but the truth is, I rather wanted to tell Loren, too. If it weren't for her and her divine intervention, I wouldn't be standing here with the love of my life and now the father of my children. And I want Harm to know about her, too…it's time.

"Yeah, but there's more…" Harm suddenly flips me around in his arms and I have to fight off another wave of dizziness.

"Oh my god, triplets?!"

 _Oh, Flyboy…_ "No! Harm, you were at the ultrasound. Did you see three babies?" He shakes his head and I can't help but laugh at the relief in his expression. "No…it's something else. But give me a minute. I want to say goodbye." If Harm thinks it strange that I'm going to say good by to the grave of a woman who by all accounts was a thorn in our side, he keeps it to himself.

I slowly kneel down once again by Loren and Emma's headstone and rest my hand against the cool granite. "Goodbye, Loren. Thank you again."

And off in the distance I hear the little jingle of bells that tells me she heard.

I let Harm help me up again and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. "So, what is it you wanted to tell me?" he asks as we start walking back to the car.

"Harm?" I ask. "Do you believe in guardian angels?"

"I've never really thought about it," he answers, and I smile up at him.

"Well, I have a story to tell you…"

* * *

 _End_

 _Well, that's it. Thanks for reading everyone, and a special shout out to Radiorox and MAJ8395 for their encouragement and advice. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!_


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